


Reputation

by cpt_winniethepooh, FindingFrancis



Series: Reputation [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Aftercare, Album: Reputation (Taylor Swift), Albumfic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Family, BDSM, Bad Puns, Bath Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Dom Bucky Barnes, Flirting, Fluff, Goat Herder Bucky Barnes, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure Steve Rogers, Light Bondage, M/M, Misconceptions, Mixed Media, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Protective Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shower Sex, Social Media, Songfic, Sparring, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Stress Baking, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 83,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpt_winniethepooh/pseuds/cpt_winniethepooh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingFrancis/pseuds/FindingFrancis
Summary: Captain America is a hero to the nation, but an uncomfortable cage for Steve Rogers. He is confined by his reputation as the boring Avenger, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, and has long given up on hope to change his public image.Then he meets James Barnes, the infamous assassin also known as the Winter Soldier, who recently switched sides and is now working for the US instead of Russia. Barnes is tall, dark and handsome with his man-bun and eyeliner, and everything Steve shouldn’t want but does.But just as there is more to Steve than Cap, there is more to Barnes than the Soldier - but will they be able to see that and find happiness?An albumfic about finding love through the noise, set to the tune and narrative of Taylor Swift’s Reputation.





	1. you've ruined my life by not being mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gorgeous first meeting.
> 
> Song: _Gorgeous_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my fic for the [2018 Stucky AU Big Bang](https://stuckyaubang.tumblr.com/) \- the AU part is that Steve and Bucky are not childhood best friends but meet as adults working for SHIELD, and their romance is developing to the narrative of the Reputation album WHICH I LOVE OKAY don't even @ me.
> 
> A round of applause before we begin: for [Bees ](https://beesandbroomsticks.tumblr.com/)and her amazing artwork for my story - go followe her at tumblr! For [Star](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereyeswerestars/), my beta, who went out of her way to correct my fuckups; for [Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyPotteri), my cheer-reader, whose unparalelled enthusiasm encouraged me to finish this beast; and for [Mena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera), who brainstormed with me from the get-go. Additionally, I have to mention my local NaNo writing group for supporting me and the members of the Stucky discord - most notably, [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl) \- for the help with the American stuff :D You were all amazing and I couldn't have done this without you! <3 
> 
> Also, according to Lily the best way to read this story is to make a game out of finding the Taylor Swift lyrics references, so I'd advise you to follow her lead :D
> 
> HUGE disclaimer: I don't own the characters (they belong to Marvel) nor Reputation, obviously (please don't sue me). This is also not me speculating about TS's love life: I am merely using the lyrics and the atmosphere of the Rep album's songs to tell a love story between fictional characters in my own way. Later on it'll get into very explicit smut territory that has absolutely nothing to do with the album, just with me and my kinks (I'll add the tags as we go).

_ocean blue eyes_

_looking in mine_

_i feel like i might sink and drown and die_

 

"...and it is rumoured that beside some highly esteemed Avengers members, such as the nation's beloved Captain America, other enhanced individuals will attend the Gala. Insiders claim that Scarlet Witch is on the guest list, and that is still less surprising than the recently recruited Winter Soldier, the sniper known for over 20 assassinations–"

Steve gave up trying to knot his tie and angrily switched the TV off. Typical, to hear only gossip on a supposedly objective channel, yet no word of the actual purpose or even the _name_ of the Annual Gala for the Benefit of Local Colleges: a fundraiser to make college more accessible. At least the anchors didn't speculate about Natasha's love life, or maybe Steve just tuned that part out in his attempt to tie a fancy knot.

He would find out about all the rumours he missed from the rags tomorrow.

God, this evening would be _hell_ without Nat and Sam, but missions weren’t scheduled based on black tie event dates.

In the end, he found a tutorial on YouTube and nailed the knot – he wasn't dubbed the best tactician of the century without a reason, after all. His SHIELD issued shrink would probably have a thing or two to say about him redoing it four times, but he'd have flashes in his face all evening, so best to have everything in perfect order, just as expected of him. At least then the best they can chew on would be if him and Sharon were going as friends or more, which... they were both used to, at least.

 

 

Sharon looked stunning in a silvery dress that complimented her figure, skin tone and Steve's tie and that Steve itched to draw. Maybe he'd ask her to wear it again, or he could always rely on his near eidetic memory to recreate it on paper later, after he smiled and waved then washed the exhaustion away with a hot bubble bath and perhaps a group chat and some inappropriate jokes with the Avengers. But first they posed in front of the door of the building with Sharon, arms around each other's backs, and tried to ignore the shouts from the paparazzi.

"Captain America, how come you aren't wearing red, white and blue?"

"Captain Rogers, what are your thoughts on the rumours about Black Widow and the Hulk?"

"What do you think about the Winter Soldier joining SHIELD?"

"Agent Carter, why come with Cap instead of your girlfriend? Is this a date?"

 _There we go_ , Steve thought, and Sharon's hand twitched on the low of his back. They both waved once more and then walked inside without another word, where Steve could wipe the sweat off from his forehead — two layers of clothes with a tight neck, the mid-August heat and the light beams in his face were too much for the superserum.

“How is ‘lesbian’ that hard of a concept?” Sharon fumed quietly but with an angelic smile. Steve tracked a waiter down and got her a flute of champagne. “I thought only bisexuality  was called a phase?!”

Steve nodded in agreement. They both knew what it was: good old-fashioned misogyny and homophobia. The general public just couldn't fathom why Sharon _wouldn't_ date Captain America. These kinds of questions became the standard since gritty photos of her and her then-girlfriend appeared in the tabloids. Before that she'd been only of minor importance in the public eye as Agent Carter's niece and Captain America's handler, but afterwards rumours flew, incredible scenarios were created from thin air — including, but not limited to her having a threesome with Cap, her having a romantic relationship with any female SHIELD member and Cap having some sort of feud with her based on her sexuality — all lacking any basis in reality, of course. Sharon's girlfriend did break up with her as a result, though, and Sharon asked a transfer to the bullpen until attention turned elsewhere as she got outrageously compromised as a SHIELD agent.

They couldn't even track who leaked the pictures, even though Tony had been on it day and night.

It only served as a grim reminder of why Steve himself hadn't been dating much, this side of the Millennia.

“Everything's a phase if it doesn't serve their narrative,” Steve murmured. The champagne tasted magnificent, and Steve wished he could get at least a little tipsy. Instead he settled for feasting his eyes upon the room, the excessive golden decorations and satin white sheets, and everyone dressed to the nines and then some. Not many were seated, instead the waitstaff maneuvered expertly in the crowd, and Steve spotted Vision, talking with Wanda – she waved at him with some red sparks – Rhodey with some fat cat, but no sign of Tony yet.

“Ain't that the truth,” Sharon snatched another flute for herself. “Stark knows how to butter people up, though.”

“Was that a compliment or a complaint,” Steve asked.

“Why chose when you can have both?” she flashed him a grin. 'Oh wait, that's you, not me.'

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

Steve couldn't admire the decor of the room or Sharon's wittiness for long, because one by one, people noticed his presence and began circling him. He didn't have to put on a false smile for his teammates and SHIELD colleagues, but politicians, millionaires, investors and the like fell under a different category.

“Captain Rogers, good to see you here!” a balding man with a crooked nose shook Steve's hand with vigor.

“Mr. Ripley,” and Ripley, a huge network owner, steered him so his journalist could take a flattering photograph.

Then the next came.

“Captain Rogers, our most sincere gratitude for your speech about vaccinations! Our stocks have never been so high!” a slimy man just short of an evil mustache (that Steve actually caricatured him with privately, once) rushed to say.

“Mr. Davidson, my speech had nothing to do with your stocks; I support child vaccination, not corporate gain,” Steve said, but it was as if he was talking to a deaf person.

“Yes, yes of course, but if there's any way to repay you, say, a getaway in the Bahamas with your _friend_ ,” he said with a leering glance at Sharon.

“I'd rather not get my name _or_ title associated with that offer,” Steve said with as much sneer as he could muster, mainly to prevent punching Davidson.

Then the next.

“There's the man himself, Captain America!” and thick fingers landed on Steve's shoulder with a force that would've made his pre-serum self fall face-first to the ground. “We missed you at the rally this weekend. Even your friend was there, the fast one, what's his name?”

Steve shimmied  away from the unwanted touch. “His name is Pietro Maximoff, Senator Irving, and he was protesting _against_ your newest proposal, as would've I if a mission hadn't come up.”

“I can't see why you'd say such a thing – me and my staff want to protect the true America!”

“America starts with the _people_ , not the 1% rich white men you seem desperate to empower even more,” Steve gritted out.

But again, his voice was unheard in the mix of misconceptions and presumptions. And so Steve braced himself for the next mandatory greeting, only to be met with—

“Pepper!” Steve almost melted with relief. Sharon, now on her fourth flute, floated to his side again.

“You seem like you could use some rescue,” she winked elegantly. Her hair and makeup were done to perfection, as always when in public, but she was wearing one of the most relaxed smiles Steve had ever seen on her.

“And you look like it's your day off,” Steve kissed her cheek.

“You look radiant,” Sharon greeted her too. “Are those shoes new?”

“Yes, custom from Tony with love,” Pepper did a small curtsey to illustrate. “The most comfortable I've ever worn, too. I want to enjoy this evening — I'm here as Tony's partner and not on behalf on SI, after all,” she replied to Steve.

“Doesn't that warrant _more_ effort than less?” Steve asked in a low voice so that nobody nearby would overhear — at events like these, cameras were trained on him at all times, and knowing his luck, _this_ remark, no matter how good-natured, wouldn’t fell upon deaf ears. He once saw some soccer players discuss tactics with their hands covering their mouths so that nobody could read their lips, and he seriously considered taking a leaf from their book.

Pepper rewarded his quip with a bubbling laugh.

“I knew I liked you, Steve. Come, let's find Tony.”

Pepper evaded approachers masterfully, with a sad smile to convey how sorry she was because no, Captain Rogers had Important Places to be right now, sincerest apologies. Steve wished he could master her technique, but it just never seemed to work.

“I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but how come people just don't understand plain old English anymore?” Steve asked.

“It is a side effect of entitlement,” Pepper said.

“I don't know how you can bear it on a daily basis.”

“Same way as you: I know this is how I can get things done.”

Tony, too, played the crowd like a violin. Steve must've missed his entrance because by now he was with Rhodey, wearing a smile that only those close to him recognized as fake. The smile was directed at the couple in front of him, not Rhodey, though.

“One occasion per superhero would be enough,” the man said in a deep voice, scratchy from probably years of smoking. He stood with the ease of every other rich, empowered man in the room, full of confidence and the knowledge that their wishes would be granted without a second thought. “Think about how beneficial it would be, Stark.”

Tony’s eyes met Steve. “Steve! Good to see you here!”

“Ah, Captain Rogers, perhaps you could help us out!” the man said.

“How so?” Steve asked, although he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer. But at least Tony shook his hand enthusiastically, latching onto every moment where his smile could turn honest, before he noticed Pepper and he practically _beamed_.

Steve tried not to show how lonely he felt, and Sharon subtly squeezed his arm.

After they greeted Rhodey, Tony introduced them to Mr. Ardell, a media mogul and clothing brand owner, apparently, and his partner, a Miss Johnson whose hair, make-up and attire probably cost more than Steve's monthly rent in Brooklyn. She wore it well, though, even if all she seemed to have been brought along for was her pretty smile, because she had nothing to offer in terms of furthering the conversation.

“I was just telling to Mr. Stark here,” Ardell said, not forgetting Tony's title now that he had further audience, “what a mutually beneficial relationship the Avengers could have with my brand.”

“Oh? What would that be?”

“I would love to feature some promotional footage for your team, you know, heroic acts combined with inspirational speeches — you could reach millions, if not billions with a segment! You could change the world, even more than you already had.”

Ardell gestured appreciatively at Steve while Johnson kept up the all-white smiling and nodding. He sounded genuine about his offer to give voice to Steve, which made him the first amongst the non-Avengers affiliated guests of the evening. Steve almost had his hopes up.

“Do tell the good Captain what you'd like in return,” Tony advised, and barely raised hopes fell to the ground.

“It's not like that, it would be only a small act of gratitude—”

"What is it?" Steve asked him.

“A new line of my brand will hit stores soon, and I would send you some promotional pieces — one wear would be enough in public, of course, nothing too forward…”

That actually hadn't been the worst deal Steve had been offered since he was thawed out. In fact, he was used to far, far more invasive and demanding suggestions.

Ardell saw his chance and went in for more. “I will send you some details, Captain Rogers, and the draft of our PR-department’s speech for you for further consideration,” he proclaimed.

Tony rolled his eyes before he spotted someone and waltzed away, but Steve was too busy trying not to scream at Ardell to notice who.

“If you want me to wear your brand then the message should be mine, too,” he said.

“Of course, of course, but we can help with the wording! You superheroes aren’t market experts after all!” he said with a smile that probably aimed for reassurance but failed miserably, but then Ardell was already shaking Steve’s hand as if they had a signed deal.

Johnson even curtsied at him. “I wish I had your natural shade, it's very flattering — it will go so well with our color theme,” she said as a goodbye, nodding at his hair, which wasn't a compliment he had received in his whole life.

By the time he decided against telling her that he had to bleach it for a photoshoot — that was some news he didn't wish to see in the Daily Bugle, but he would’ve loved to see their faces, at least — they had already left their circle.

“There's no way it's better than Bloodborne,” Rhodey was saying to Pepper and Sharon when he focused back on them.

“You're biased, air man,” Sharon retaliated. “If you aren't careful, you'll get free shirts from them too, like Steve here.”

“I was never offered free video game shirts,” Steve said after he did a mental countdown of promotional packages sent his way.

“If you don't want the business with Ardell just let me know and I'll get PR to decline,” Pepper said.

“Thanks, Pepper,” Steve said, knowing that his own “no thank you” would either go unheard or come out as “I would rather hurl myself off the roof”. Although, he had his own PR people as Cap at SHIELD, and he could always turn to them — they took care of sponsorships anyway.

“And Tony owes you one, Ardell's been at him for weeks,” Rhodey added confidentially.

Steve nodded and looked around, trying to locate Tony. He was taller than most people, but not _that_ tall, and he had to do almost a full circle of the room before he spotted him. The genius was shorter, but louder than most in many ways of the word, including the bright metallic sequins sewn onto his vest, and when the mass of people shifted, the light glinted on the sequins and also on the sleeve of the man he was talking with.

Wait a minute.

That wasn't a sleeve. That was a _metal arm._

Steve's eyes traced the lines of panels up to the shoulder, to the black, armless jacket, to the man's face, and his jaw dropped, because Tony Stark was talking to the single most attractive person Steve had ever seen.

 

 

He had...  a lot of things. Many things. Of many kinds.

An undercut, to begin with, which revealed an assortment of black and silver piercings and earrings in his ear while the rest of his brown, soft hair was pulled back to a loose bun. He wore a white dress shirt and a silky grey tie with a leather jacket, of all things, in _summer_ \- the left sleeves were missing, allowing the metal arm to be on full display, but curiously he still wore fingerless black leather gloves on the prosthetic. Was that a prosthetic? It had to be.

With combat boots. And those _thighs_.

Steve had a crystal clear flash of a vision about those thighs around his own waist and whoa, that was not where this train of thought set out to go. To help his utterly unhelpful brain out of the gutter, he focused back on the man's face, and that... that did not help _at all._

The five o'clock shadow should've clashed with the whole setup, but then again, the setup shouldn't have worked in the first place, so. No wonder the fuzz worked too.

A cupid's bow. Symmetrical features. And those eyes.

Especially those eyes.

Black eyeliner helped to bring the whole look together and Steve couldn't breathe. The room became suddenly too hot and too cold, all because of someone Steve was seeing for the first time in his life, because for _sure_ he would've remembered someone like this.

Suddenly he had to ball his fist to prevent the full body shiver running through him, and then he felt a clean line of sweat at his lower back.

And it wasn't even about anything in particular about the stranger.

Well, there were many peculiar things, really, but nothing that would've explained Steve's reaction. People hardly ever had this effect on him, especially not from across the room. And yet here he was, and if the urge to sketch Sharon was like the buzzing of a mosquito, then the itch to draw this man was as ignorable and inconsequential as an earthquake.

“Easy,” Sharon leaned close to mimic perfecting his tie, and her touch calmed him. Somewhat.

Steve realized he had been holding his breath and he exhaled. He hoped nobody apart from Sharon saw his minor breakdown – at least he could go on without oxygen for a while, but he didn't want to.

What?

His own thoughts were like a tangled mess of yarn, endless and impossible to untangle.

“Who's he?” It would've been fruitless to pretend like nothing had happened. With her, at least. At once he was glad that Natasha couldn't attend the event, and Sam, too; although he had been pretty disappointed about this earlier.

Sharon gave him an angled eyebrow. “James Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier?”

Oh, right. He should've recognized the arm and put two and two together.

The only thing Steve's brain wanted to put together was his body with Barnes's, and that did nothing to help.

“Did Wanda put a spell on you again?” Sharon asked kindly. Steve straightened himself.

“I hope not,” he muttered,  eyes never leaving the assassin’s . “He doesn't have mind-powers either, right?”

"Right," Sharon nodded. As the world came back into focus he vaguely registered Rhodey and Pepper comparing video games again, and the fact that their small group was positioned so that anyone who wanted to talk to Steve would have to go through the others first. “He _is_ handsome, though. Objectively.”

Objectivity remained as unreachable to Steve as his past with Peggy.

“So he... switched sides?” Steve tried to remember anything he had heard about Barnes. “An assassin?”

“Yep.” Sharon took another sip of champagne. “Worked for the Russians for years; now he's with us.”

“And some people think he's a spy,” Steve said.

“People always think stupid shit,” Sharon said.

“Do you also think that?”

“Yes, people are idiots. About him? Well, it doesn't matter, does it. I'm not an Avenger, I won't be working with him.”

Something was missing, Steve could tell. Something about her statement felt off, but he couldn’t say what, and pressing wouldn’t have helped either.

“It matters to me,” he said, honestly.

“It shouldn't, because I'm not the one who wants to climb him like a tree,” Sharon said, and heat rushed to his face, making him blush embarrassingly – and of course, that was the moment Rhodey and Pepper stepped back to allow Tony and Barnes in.

Barnes, sadly, was even more beautiful from up close. Steve tried not to spend too much time gazing into his outlined eyes, because that was a blue that threatened to drown the unfortunate souls that got too close, but nowhere else was safe to stare at. Steve's mind stumbled upon itself when his eyes caught the way the light that hit the metal arm, or a strand of hair falling into Barnes's face, or muscles bulging under the leather, or anything else, really.

He was almost as tall as Steve, and maybe even broader in the shoulders. Those eyes kept Steve dragging Steve down, no matter how he fought the pull.

So Steve did what he always did when faced with a challenge: he squared his shoulders even more, lifted his chin up and met the dare with fake bravado.

Rhodey and Pepper seemed to have already met Barnes before, based on how Tony gestured between Steve and him.

“From Russia With Love, meet the American Dream,” he said.

Barnes and Steve stared at Tony, Rhodey groaned, Sharon almost choked on her champagne, and Pepper looked about to smack Tony.

At least the quip broke Steve's reverie.

Pepper drew Tony away to avoid another such line and Barnes shook Steve's hand, and the touch sent an electric wave up Steve's arm, right into his chest. Steve used his best showgirl smile to return Barnes's smirk.

“Nice to meet you. Steve Rogers.”

“Pleasure,” Barnes purred. “James Barnes.”

He had a slight foreign tilt to his words - probably Russian.

“This is Sharon Carter.” Steve anchored himself with an arm around Sharon's waist.

Barnes shook her hand, and the light playing on the metal fingers mesmerized Steve. “Are you an Avenger as well?”

“No, I'm a handler.”

“I hoped you’d say that – I would love to hear your voice during missions.”

“A mission isn't a good place to get distracted,” Steve said, maybe a bit more firmly than how he intended, because while Sharon could more than defend her honor, Steve still got angry on her behalf whenever someone was untoward. And this evening had done nothing to make him more patient.

The plates on Barnes's arm shifted, and his smirk extended to the corners of his eyes as well.

“Don’t worry, I’m good at multitasking,” he told Steve. Steve's throat became uncomfortably dry.

“Is that so?” Steve asked.

“You have no idea,” Barnes winked, honest-to-god _winked_ at him.

He probably wanted to make Steve uncomfortable. A douchy move, but not unheard of — people sometimes wanted to see how far the stick went up his ass. But before he could react, Sharon interrupted.

“If you want a distraction, mention Budapest to Coulson, and all else will be forgotten,” she said, and Steve officially had no idea how they got here.

“Why do we always start with the loopholes?” Steve asked her, playing into his role as the boring one to maybe make Barnes uncomfortable in return.

But he was, once again, immensely thankful that neither Nat nor Sam could attend, because they would've dissolved into giggles upon the idea of him suggesting following the rules. Sharon just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Because a good agent is prepared for all possibilities,” she said innocently.

And then Tony was back, and dragged Barnes away to meet someone else before Steve could make an even bigger fool of himself.

 

Steve couldn't take his mind off of Barnes for the rest of the evening. A true out of body experience was the best description for his state: as if someone  had taken all his senses and with that, all control over his body. He now saw himself from the outside with all his flaws and mistakes displayed brightly. How his fake smile distorted his face, how clumsily he moved, which was  highlighted by his size, how generic his statements sounded.

He felt horrible and he hated himself for it.

He especially hated how he imagined Barnes imagined him — a cookie-cutter, brainless propaganda figure. He couldn't decide if that image was better or worse than the real deal: the insecure, lost, overcompensating Steve Rogers that not many people saw, and even less _wanted_ to see.

And yet his eyes kept lingering on  fleeting flashes of metal; he found he could recognize Barnes just by his bun from behind. He told himself he just wanted to keep track of him to better avoid him, while he drained glass after glass of expensive booze that had absolutely zero effect on him.

“Easy,” Sharon muttered, way past the point of wanting to stop him — she drank once to his every fifth, and yet just began slightly swaying.

He envied her. He would've loved to drain all his sorrows in alcohol, and wished for Thor's presence — although then he wouldn't have the self-restraint to keep away from Barnes.

He hadn't drank much before the serum, but he was always stupid. With Thor's ale he would've done something _especially_ moronic, like start a fight or try to make fun of that remote Russian lilt he had — the sound bounced around in Steve's head, echoing, as if to also say "see? nothing in here. it’s just the same dancing monkey from the forties."

He didn't even know how to talk to people anymore.

That empty head throbbed even more heavily when Steve remembered Barnes's hand touching his.

He wasn't like this. He had never experienced gravity like this, not even when he was jumping out of planes without a parachute. Not that he’d actually loved many people in his life – Peggy, yes, but she calmed him down instead of riling him up, so.

Love? Wait, what?

Who said anything about love?

Steve shook himself and made a mental note to ask Wanda if she meddled with his mind – although he doubted that. He was probably just starving for anyone to notice him. Even Barnes, who seemed like the type to make your night perfect then leave with your heart in the morning. Not that Steve would've minded that, exactly. Especially if it was Barnes.

Because Barnes seemed to  know what he was doing. He charmed everyone off of their feet, left and right – at least those who had an open-enough mind for someone who had just switched sides. His wry grin became infectious, and laughter and flushed cheeks followed wherever he went.

Steve wanted Barnes to charm him, too. He wanted to drink in his voice, let those hands roam him… not that he would be able to put two sensible sentences together in Barnes’s presence, clearly.

The thought bittered the champagne on his tongue.

And then there was the fact that Barnes probably wasn’t interested in men. And most likely wasn’t single, or at the very least already had someone waiting at home: probably a beautiful woman with a perfect smile and—

And unexplainable jealousy filled Steve at the thought of Barnes with someone else.

Which was a very likely scenario, given his behavior.

And even if nobody wanted to spend the night with him, he probably would’ve gone home alone instead of with Steve, The Most Boring Avenger.

So Steve drank and did his best to avoide the metal arm, but with each new person that came to greet him, he still helplessly hoped to see those incredible blue eyes that he knew would haunt him in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full story is finished, only last minute touch-ups and editing to be done, so I'll upload a chapter daily. Stay tuned and tell me what you think! (And shout if you come accross any typos or such nonsense; I tend to make tweaks right before I post, and my betas have no chance of spotting errors that I add then XD ) 
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr ](http://cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/);)


	2. touch me and you'll never be alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're ready for more ;)
> 
> Song: _Ready For It_

_knew he was a killer first time that i saw him_

_wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted_

_but if he's a ghost then i can be a phantom_

 

It was within Steve's limit to not look up Barnes online – history, news, _images_ – or on the SHIELD servers, but he couldn't prevent himself from thinking about him. Especially not during his morning workout through the fresh August dawn the morning after the Gala, when his head was still full of blue eyes and a warm voice and that electrifying touch.

He ran with Sam whenever he wasn't at DC, but Sam was still on that mission with Nat, and so Steve did his rounds alone before heading for the reinforced bags in the safety of his own apartment in Brooklyn. But even after two hours, he was just more agitated and not tired.

Times like these made it especially hard not to daydream about Peggy, too, and the life they could've had together, had Steve not put the plane into the water and then woken up seventy years into the future. Peggy, at least, had had a happy and full life, and found someone to love. And really, not much was stopping Steve, except... except the headlines he briefly glanced at during his run, some speculation about his relationship with Sharon, though he didn't pause to read, and avoided even looking at newstands until he was back home.

He decided against visiting Peggy’s grave that morning. Even though she had died a little over a year ago, he still had to emotionally brace himself every time, and he definitely didn’t want to see headlines about how immediately after his first meeting with a new Avengers member he went to the grave of the founder of SHIELD.

Instead he grabbed a sketchpad and began doodling. He needed no reference photo for Peggy, and first he drew her as her younger, spitfire self, chewing a new one for some inappropriate comment, then a close-up of her face and kind eyes.

 _God_ , how Steve missed her still.

Then, when he was done making himself sad, he began outlining Sharon's dress – he could give it to her as a present, maybe.

Somehow no line felt right, though, and soon too many eraser marks curled the paper, and Steve was cursing himself for not using a tablet. He flipped the page and began again, but his mind wondered from Sharon's features which he appreciated on an objective level, to Barnes, about whom he couldn't seem to be anything but.

Steve kind of regretted not going up to him at the Gala. He entertained fantasies about Barnes’s metal hand on his own, his wicked grin aimed solely at Steve, the shocked gasps from the guests all around them...

But it wouldn’t have happened like that. Steve would’ve just made a fool of himself and risked Barnes laughing at him, and Barnes would’ve broken his heart. A typical bad boy, his everything screamed from a mile away. Not to mention that there was no proof that he would even be into _men_ in the first place, let alone _Steve_.

And even if he were, imagine the headlines. _"Ex-Enemy of the State corrupts America's Icon."_

Steve… may have minded that even less than his heart being torn into tiny shreds. In fact, maybe that was exactly what his reputation needed: a fresh start. To show the world — to broadcast it from the largest tower — that he wasn't a perfect, clean-cut, traditionally bigoted idealist. That he was a person, with opinions, and desires, and those desires were aimed at other men, sometimes. Mostly Barnes, apparently, even if he had spilled true Americans’ blood.

Barnes's image would never overcome the stain of “deflowering” Captain America, though.

No mortal men's would, which was why Steve didn't date, especially not men. Nobody deserved to live with that burden, or to have flashes in their faces every morning, and to find speculative articles about every aspect of their pasts, and to have the world scrutinize everything they do.

Steve signed up for this.

Kind of. When he didn't say no to SHIELD.

Whoever Steve ended up dating would have to sign up for this, too. And that was not a decision to be made at first sight.

 

Steve stared down at the paper with a frown, and hair falling into a face, crinkling eyes and a half-smirk stared back at him.

Damn it.

But at that point his options were go big or go home, and so Steve reached for his colored pencils to try and mimic those magnetic oceans. Purely for artistic purposes.

A chirping sound drew him back to reality, and he checked his phone to find a message from Sam: a link to a news article, and some crying-while-laughing emojis. Steve opened the link and had to stifle a groan.    

> CAPTAIN AMERICA PREFERS 15K SINGLE MALT
> 
> The Nation's icon and WWII hero Steve 'Captain America' Rogers attended yesterday's Annual Gala for the Benefit of Local Colleges, along with Avengers team-member and billionaire genius Tony Stark, SI CEO Pepper Potts, and Air Force Colonel and part-time War Machine James Rhodes. Despite the formidable options for company, Captain Rogers was mostly seen near Sharon Carter, also a co-worker from the superhero managing organization, SHIELD.
> 
> The two seemed to have a marvelous time together, and witnesses claimed they had 'great chemistry,' even though a few months ago Agent Carter was allegedly claimed to prefer the company of her own gender.

Steve grabbed his phone.

_What do they mean 'alleged lesbian' ffs_

Within seconds the phone buzzed.

_Yeah, you shoulda seen Nat's reaction_

Steve sighed and pulled the article up again.   

> Captain Rogers and Agent Carter consumed somewhat large amounts of alcohol through the night, and she even had trouble standing up by herself at 2AM when they left the party.

_"God damn it,"_ Steve thought, because Sharon had an issue with her _heel_ , not with too much booze. But even if she had, she was with friends in her downtime, she could drink however much she wished without being shamed for it.    

> The Captain, of course, was a perfect gentleman all through the night, proving just how great his generation had actually been. Other than Agent Carter, he preferred to have fine whisky in  his hands. The Dalmore Constellation Collection Vintage Single Malt Scotch Whisky from Highlands, to be exact, which retails only at special auctions at a bargain price of $15,000 per bottle – the Captain has a very fine taste!

Steve almost dropped the phone. Fifteen grand?! He thought the title exaggerated – he didn't – _how?!_

He spent several minutes trying to locate where the catering for the Gala came from while mentally preparing to donate the needed amount for the charity, only to find that SI was responsible for it all.

Oh. All right. Well, come to think about it, who else was going to serve scotch that expensive?

He still made a mental note to talk to Pepper about it.    

> And as most people know, the Captain had been given a super-serum which raises his tolerance levels, and the fine beverage didn't affect him more than orange juice would have. Take note, readers: don't drink more than you can handle, and follow Cap's example.

 The article thankfully ended there, but as Steve scrolled to the bottom, other headlines assaulted him.   

> WE ARE THANKFUL CAP CHOSE US –  _Dalmore Distillery spokesperson about Captain America drinking their Single Malt_
> 
> WINTER SOLDIER SEDUCING AT THE PARTY – _recently turned ex-assassin flirting with guests; how mad is Stark?_
> 
> CAPTAIN AMERICA MEETING WINTER SOLDIER –  _can we expect a new cold war when the sides collide?_

The last one was captured with the image of Steve and Barnes talking, and indeed – Steve looked like he had just swallowed something really bitter, and what Steve had taken as ease on Barnes's part appeared like forcing down the urge to strangle on the photo.

Steve groaned again and threw the phone to the cushions.

 

Sam and Nat came back from their mission a couple of days later, and Tony invited everybody to the Tower to celebrate. Saving the world together regularly created bonds that ran deep, and they were thankful for every opportunity to be together — and away from prying outsider eyes.

“I got you this,” Nat said when she walked in, and threw a bottle of drugstore quality scotch right into Steve’s lap. “Though I would've brought something more expensive if you’d told me you prefer 15k a bottle.”

“You are hilarious,” Steve said, stone-faced, only to be met with laughter, and he immediately backtracked about missing his friends. “Did you bring the same to Sharon, too?”

“No, she's a classy woman and as such, she got a pair of sapphire earrings,” she said as she opened a bottle of beer.

“And we almost missed our extraction as a result,” Sam muttered.

“You would've done the same if you were getting laid regularly,” Nat fired back, which was a fair point. “I'm sure Steve here would help you out if he didn't have his mind set elsewhere.”

“I hate you all,” Steve rolled his eyes, which gave him an excuse to avoid Sam's – the Avengers didn't know that he and Sam had actually tried, soon after they first met and admitted being queer, but it just. Didn't work out.

They were too alike.

“Look, you can get proper drinks here too,” Sam nodded towards the minibar.

“Not that they affect me at all,” Steve said sadly, but he did stand up to get a glass, into which he poured from Nat's gift to test it.

“Here’s hoping Thor’ll get back and get some of his ale,” Sam told him, he himself taking advantage of Tony's selection.

Steve cheered him, and then kept eye-contact with Nat while he drank. She looked completely unimpressed with him being unable to say no to a dare, which wasn’t new. But for a refill he went after the good stuff, just like Sam: the difference was easy to spot between the expensive and the cheap liquor, even if he never would've paid that much for just one bottle.

He still wished for something stronger to make him feel less miserable after seeing Sharon lean down to place an almost obscene kiss to Nat's lips, bright blue gems sparkling in her ears.

Nat gave him a _look_ when she noticed his staring.

“You look good together,” he said defensively, then realized it came out much more objectifying than how he intended. Luckily, Nat just shook her head, though.

“Yes, thank you for your support, Captain Meddler,” Sharon rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were slightly rosier than before. Steve counted it as a win.

The Avengers were a loud bunch, even without Thor present, as the companies of twos and threes tried to make their voices heard in their respective groups over the rest. Sam entertained Steve and Rhodey with the details of the mission, especially with how Nat pretended to be a nanny in order to gain the target's trust. Steve had to endure jibes about his taste in alcohol whenever he went to the bottles at the bar, as apparently the article made rounds in the groupchat.

Pepper just waved his concerns away, though. “I’m glad you finally indulged, Steve. You don't have to apologize for feeling good.”

He had no idea what to say to that, and relief filled him when Wanda grabbed him to vent about introducing Vision to her family.

“...so I could tell that Vision was nervous even if I couldn’t feel his emotions,” she finished after relaying his stress-baking adventures to Steve, twisting a strand of hair around her fingers. “But as it is he’s just making me _more_ nervous, too, and I’m afraid that won’t translate well when we actually meet Erik. And Erik… I know he wants us to be on good terms, but he isn’t the best with things like… tolerance.”

That was one way of putting it, Steve supposed. But these last few years, after finding out that Wanda and Pietro had survived the fire that killed their birth mother and were actually adopted by humans, the idea of a family actually calmed Magneto down somewhat.

“When are you going to introduce them?” Steve asked her.

“They invited us over for brunch the next week,” she said. “We’re probably going to spend the holidays together, or some of it… I want to give them all a couple of months to get acclimatized to the new situation.”

“Good strategy,” Steve said. He wished he had something more substantial to offer in terms of reassurance, but Magneto did have a temper. Combine that with Vision’s lack of human customs and you had a bomb waiting for a spark to go off… which gave him an idea. “Will you be bringing Pietro along, too?”

She seemed torn. “I don't know. He could escalate the situation, although he wants to be there.”

“I think you should get him there,” Steve said. “He could distract Vision _and_ Lehnsherr from anything short of an actual apocalypse just by being himself, if all else fails.”

Wanda pondered over this for a little while. “That sounds plausible, yeah.”

“And you can always blame it on Captain America,” Steve grinned and drank the last of his drink as a salute.

Wanda laughed, then she raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of distractions,” she said, and gestured at the door again, where  James Barnes stood, looking around the room expectantly.

The world came to a sudden, grinding halt, and the empty glass slid from Steve's fingers down, and only supersoldier reflexes prevented its collision with the floor.

“I didn't know he was coming,” Steve said, frantically grasping for the bottle, although he aimed for casual.

“Winter is always coming,” Wanda cheekily grinned, and by the time Steve was done frowning at her disapprovingly, Barnes got dragged into the room by Tony. Steve lowered his voice.

“Wanda, did you... did you use your mind-magic on me at the Gala?”

“What?” her eyes widened in shock. “To do what?”

 _To make me fall in love with a stranger,_ Steve thought, but it sounded stupid even in his head. And anyway, it wasn't love. Not yet. Just the promise of falling, and the temptation to start down a dark path and never see the light again.

Steve considered if the serum suddenly stopped working because it sure felt like he was under the influence again.

“Oh, Steve, no,” Wanda said, picking up on his thoughts or his mood. “I don't enchant people like that. Especially not hearts, that's just cruel.”

“Then why…” Steve couldn't help but whisper, still looking at Barnes, who was now surrounded with Tony, Rhodey, Clint and Bruce.

“Sometimes magic exists between people, even if they aren't witches,” she said.

“I don't even know him,” Steve said, then jumped a foot.

Natasha suddenly appeared by his side out of nowhere only to proclaim, “You should.”

And before Steve could utter a word, she had already grabbed his hand and pulled him towards Barnes.

“You should try the punch,” Rhodey was saying, but Barnes's eyes immediately followed Steve's motions before he zoomed in on Nat. This allowed Steve to oogle him relatively freely, because there was no way he could look anywhere else when Barnes was around.

Barnes had chosen a more casual style than at the Gala: dark jeans, skin-tight and flattering, with a loose grey short-sleeved shirt that had some green snakes printed on it. The grey brought out the steel in his eyes and on his prosthetic, too, even if the hair falling into his face softened the look. He moved with the confidence and elegance of a predator, like the ones on his shirt, and weirdly enough, he reminded Steve of Nat. Even if he hadn't been a famed assassin for the Russians, Steve would've put money on him being the metaphorical killer, what with how many hearts he must have left broken and bleeding in his wake.

Nat and Barnes exchanged a few words in Russian – greetings, probably – before Tony started protesting on the basis of inclusivity.

“Don't privatize my guest, that's not how we do things around here,” he grumbled.

“It’s not like they did that in the USSR either,” Bruce said, then flushed when Nat and Barnes both stared at him with identical, blank expressions. “Sorry, sorry, I didn't... mean it like that.”

“He really just isn't good at socializing, don't take it personally,” Wanda said, and Steve almost jumped out of his skin for the second time that evening – sneaky redheads were too sneaky for his liking. “How do you like the US?”

“It's very capitalistic,” Barnes said with an accompanying cat that got the canary smile. And since Steve had been dreaming about that accent, hearing the sound again felt like lowering himself into a bathtub with water _just_ the right temperature. “Full of opportunities. You are Scarlet Witch, right?”

“Yeah. Wanda Maximoff.”

They shook hands.

“You weren't born here either?” Barnes asked.

“Nah. Eastern Europe while it was still part of the USSR. I have vague memories of privatization, though.”

Tony groaned. “Are we seriously talking about capitalism and privatization now?”

“Well, that happens when people less self-centered than Americans meet,” Natasha sing-songed. “We reflect on our history to learn from our mistakes.”

“And which was the mistake, capitalism or communism?” Tony asked with his eyes narrowed, but Nat just tapped the side of his nose.

“You look empty handed, let's get you something to drink,” Pepper told Barnes, but before she could act on her words, Nat interrupted.

“Great idea! Steve, show James where the good booze is kept.”

“Oh, yes, Steve will surely get you the best there is,” Tony said. “He has an inner compass pointing at the most expensive type.”

“Ha-ha,” Steve said, ears reddening. “That's rich, coming from the guy who actually _ordered_ that drink for a charity event.”

“What else do you think would get the wealthy 1% to attend?” Tony shot back. “It just shows that my plan to trap the rich white men worked.”

Steve would've loved to object, but sadly he _was_ one such rich white man.

If his Ma could see where he ended up, God help him.

“Let's see if it can trap this less rich white man,” Nat said, and encouragingly pushed Barnes towards Steve. Barnes knew what that meant and went willingly before she turned to something with lasting, visible results, such as an elbow to the gut.

“Everybody is less rich when I'm there,” Tony informed them all, but Steve was too busy trying not to trip over his own feet to retaliate.

He looked for Sam frantically, and it took him ages to spot him outside on the balcony, with his phone held to his ear. Oh. All right, then.

“So this is where the drinks are at,” he gestured to the bar, and mentally sighed – very eloquent, intelligent job, Rogers. Surely he doesn't think you're a moron now. “What's your preference?”

“I like blonds,” Barnes said.

Steve promptly miscalculated the distance between the counter and his empty glass and the glass went rolling down. Barnes reached for and caught it.

“Beer. Blonde beer?” he asked when he gave it back to Steve, and Steve had to close his eyes as soon as he turned away in search of the drink, because. Of course that's what Barnes meant.

He hoped someone would come and save him, but nobody was interested in the minibar. Sam was still pacing back and forth outside, and Nat was entertaining the rest with a performance that had every Avenger around her, rapt with attention.

Weird. She didn't like being in the center all that much.

“Here,” he gave Barnes the beer after an immensely long period of search. Barnes lifted his glass and almost pulled it, but then he abruptly stopped.

“Don't you want to drink something?” he asked Steve. “What's your poison?”

“Nuclear bombs and fascism,” Steve said before his brain caught up with him.

Barnes blinked, then blinked again. He looked around consideringly. “I don't think this place has anything like that.”

“You'd be surprised,” Steve said, thinking about what Tony may have hidden in the workshop.

“Well, I'm no fascist, but I _was_ a communist,” Barnes said, impassive. “Maybe that would do?”

But the look that he gave Steve was charged with intensity, almost as if he was _daring_ Steve to start badmouthing him. Which. Was weird. And somehow very easy to not rise to the challenge, despite his track record of doing the opposite, if simply because Steve was used to defying expectations.

“Well, you aren't, anymore,” Steve said.

“Fox News doesn't think so,” Barnes said carefully.

“Fox News can suck it,” Steve said, making him grin.

“Seriously, I don't want to drink alone. Let me steal something for you from Stark.”

“That’s gonna be grand theft,” Steve warned. “I'm the 15k a bottle type; it's been all over the news.”

Maybe he just wanted to see how Barnes would react to that. Or maybe Steve wanted to be the reason Barnes did something rowdy, just this once, under the privacy of the night.

“Lucky for you, I’m friends with the right ones for this heist,” Barnes said, then glanced up at the ceiling. “Hey, JARVIS. Where does Tony keep the good stuff?”

“I shall lead you to it,” JARVIS replied immediately.

“I really don't know if…” Steve began, then trailed off. But JARVIS would surely not let them do something exceptionally stupid.

“I can assure you on Sir’s behalf that his liquor collection is at your service, Captain Rogers and Mr Barnes.”

Barnes looked at Steve expectantly.

“Let’s rob him, then,” Steve allowed. Because fuck it.

They turned in unision to check what the rest of the Avengers were doing out of instinct. Apparently nobody had paid any mind to what was going on in the minibar, and Steve couldn't fault them: Tony and Rhodey stood in the middle of the room, angling away from the direction of the minibar, but it was still easy to tell that they were using  the Iron Armor gauntlets to play rock, paper, scissors, of all things.

Steve gaped in horror and awe.

“I didn't know the fingers had that much dexterity,” Barnes casually said. “Lead the way, JARVIS.”

Steve was way too busy not imagining Barnes’s metal fingers doing equally dexterous things, and as a result, blindly followed JARVIS’s and Barnes’s lead to what he could only hope wasn’t his doom.

 

“There's nothing like the stars in Siberia,” Barnes said well into his eighth full glass of fine whisky. Not that Steve was counting or anything. But he must have also had some sort of enhancement, because he was no more affected by alcohol than Steve, even though they kept the same pace.

“New York is lacking in stars,” Steve agreed. He had forgotten how they started talking about this in a room with no view to the sky, not that they had been doing more than this weird thing between flirting and—

“I see just a fine one here,” Barnes raised a glass at him before he drank.

—playing, maybe. Playing that they were different people, but not _lying_ , necessarily — they didn’t hide the fact that they both wore masks, just what lay underneath.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Steve said.

“You should've seen me, I used to have a red star on my arm,” Barnes deflected, and Steve's eyes immediately began tracking the very fine arm muscles. “On my _metal_ shoulder,” Barnes rolled his eyes, and Steve blushed.

“Not anymore?” he asked, and Barnes pulled the low hem of the shirt up to show the star-less, silver surface.

“Wasn't fan of the design so I scratched it off.”

Well, that didn't seem fun. “Don't you have sensation in it?”

“More or less.” There was a beat of pause. “Wanna test it?”

Was that a come on? That had to be a come on.

“Are you offering scissor, paper, rock?” Steve asked innocently, and Barnes threw his head back to let out a surprised laugh. Unfortunately he also jostled his glass and some scotch splashed onto his shirt. “Ah fuck.”

He looked like he was just told that Father Christmas, or whatever the Russian equivalent was, didn't exist. Steve tried to contain his laughter but wasn't too successful, and Barnes aimed an empty bottle at his head. Steve caught it effortlessly.

“You should take it off before it sets in,” he said. He aimed for casually suggestive, but probably missed by a mile, because Barnes sobered up fast.

“Nah, it’s fine. But I could use some water.”

Steve looked around, but amongst the racks of scotch and wine and other liquors, he saw none that promised to be alcohol-free. Barnes, on the other hand, pulled a drawer out from the bottom of a rack – Steve hadn't even noticed that was a drawer and not some random decor - and got a cold bottle of water out.

“Want some?”

Steve shook his head, surprised. “You seem to be familiar with the place,” he said.

“I once had to kill someone in this building,” Barnes said without missing a beat. Steve scowled, seeing through the bluff.

“With a bottle of cold water. You must be a famed assassin for a reason.”

Barnes drank half of it before he answered. “Tony helped with my arm, and we both like good things.”

He gestured around himself, and Steve felt included in the motion. The warm wave that followed Barnes's statement chased away the bitter feeling in his mouth that inexplicably occured at the thought of Tony and Barnes getting trashed together.

Steve had no idea what hit him when the next thing that came out of his mouth was, “Am I a good thing too?”

A twitch of an eyebrow betrayed Barnes’s surprise, but recovered quickly. “Do you want to be?”

The air shifted between them, and Steve was too aware of every inch that kept them apart. “Depends what you mean by good,” he whispered, and leaned in.

“Thank fuck because I'm not very good at being good,” Barnes exhaled, but his lack of irony clenched Steve's heart. Just who hurt this man to push his self-esteem so low?

“That why you have the picture of a cat for your phone's background?” Steve asked, and Barnes gaped at him. “What? I'm observant.”

And it wasn't even hard to see, when Steve had been battling with a cork and Barnes checked the time mockingly.

“I suppose neither of us is what the world thinks, hm?” Barnes said in a low voice that had suddenly lost most of its foreign lilt. His hair was falling into his face, and Steve had the urge to tuck it behind his ear. To be able to touch. To _feel_.

“I'm fine with that,” Steve lied, although what he meant was that he didn't care if it meant they could still remove their clothes and inhibitions together.

“And who do you want to be tonight?” Barnes asked coyly.

Steve looked at him, at the unruly hair falling into his face, at the deep blue eyes starting back right at his soul; at the strong arms, metal and flesh alike. On a physical level, he desired Barnes, and he also had a feeling that beneath the mask was a Barnes worth knowing, worth waiting for.

But even if that Barnes never came to the surface but remained hidden, safe behind his walls, the demeanour of this one still promised a night to Steve that he’d never forget. And Steve was absolutely willing to play along, to be wooed and seduced and to be the enthusiastic volunteer in their masquerade. A partner in crime.

There was nobody else to put on a show for, only the two of them; no consequences of a loud and public affair. Only the night would be their witness.

He wanted Barnes’s arms around him, his mouth on him, and he wanted to run his fingers through Barnes’s hair. He wanted to make Barnes forget about anybody else, and he wanted to always remember him.

Who did Steve want to be tonight?

“Yours,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this was quick burn? Because it iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis. 
> 
>    
> The whisky I found randomly on Google; I know nothing about alcohol.
> 
> How do explain having both JARVIS and Vision? _Fan_ -fiction. Please suspend your disbelief :D
> 
> Sharon and Nat are together because in the comics they are love interests for Steve and Bucky respectively, and I thought it was only fair to get the ladies some well-deserved happiness. And because CAN YOU IMAGINE THE BADASSERY?! amaaazing.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, coming from an Eastern European country, privatization was a BIIIIG thing after the fall of the USSR, so that part is completely real and quite biographical, if you were wondering.


	3. echoes, love your name inside my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Don't Blame Me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huuuuge thanks to [ZepysGirl ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl)in particular for helping me out with New York - I've never been and google can only take you so far, so the insight was invaluable! <3

_my name is whatever you decide_

_and I'm just gonna call you mine_

 

They stumbled into Steve’s bedroom like teenagers: fingers laced but nothing else touching, anticipation running through them with adrenaline. The door barely closed behind them when Barnes pushed Steve against a wall — although it was less of an actual push and more like a gentle shove, one that Steve followed eagerly. But Barnes only used his right hand, keeping his left and his whole body almost painfully far from Steve.

“You wanna see how sensation works in this?” Barnes lifted his metal hand and waved his fingers.

“Yes.”

“Even though I was a Russian assassin and killed Americans?”

This was about the third time Barnes seemed to be backtracking right after hitting on Steve. Yet his gut told Steve it had nothing to do with mixed signals – there was something else there, and Steve was propelled to raise to every challenge Barnes presented him with.

“I killed too, Germans and French and whoever was with the Axis,” Steve reminded him.

“You were at war.”

“Weren't you?”

Barnes inhaled sharply but didn’t move away. Steve went on.

“Did you enjoy it?”

At this, Barnes looked outraged. “No. But I still did it.”

“Soldiers do what they are told to do. And you got out, and joined a team who helps people. That's all that matters to me.”

Barnes still looked too uncertain, though, and so Steve reached out carefully, signalling his movements, to track the fine panels on Barnes's metal hand. A full body shiver ran through the both of them at the point of contact.

“I'm full of scars,” Barnes said.

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Steve said, “if you don't want to have sex then just say so, I'd never force you if you aren't up for it–”

But then Barnes's mouth was on him, cutting off his words and his air flow. Their lips smacked together only briefly, but Barnes’s body pushed against his intently, and Steve grabbed two handfuls of ass as he thumped back against the wall.

“Oh, I'm very up,” Barnes grinned and ground into him, and Steve moaned into their next kiss.

Barnes’s tongue traced over his, and Steve closed his eyes when Barnes’s hands moved up to the back of his head. He set the pace and Steve was eager to follow, tilting his head to give better access to Barnes, and instead of keeping his body away, Barnes now crowded him against the wall.

“Bedroom’s that way,” Steve panted when they pulled apart for air, hearts beating fast, and hoped Barnes wouldn’t laugh at his lack of subtlety.

“Lead the way,” Barnes let go, and whistled, honest to God _whistled_ when Steve turned.

Steve stared back at him, and Barnes grinned. “Sorry,” he said unapologetically, “but you have incredible… features.”

He gestured at Steve’s ass.

“If you want to see it out of the denim you’d better hurry up,” Steve fired back, and Barnes literally jumped after him.

“I want to see it all,” he said, and kissed Steve fiercely.

Steve’s heart did a little leap at that, which was bad — hope was bad. Hope was amazingly hard to kill.

So he did what seemed the only sensible thing and smashed his mouth against Barnes’s, not only to make him shut up but also to push him backwards until he tripped and fell down onto the bed, staring up at Steve with wide eyes, pupils dilated.

Steve pinned him down with only his gaze as he began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Is that so,” he asked, and Barnes seemed to have forgotten how the English language worked.

Steve didn’t speak Russian, so he fall back to a more universal way of communication as he let his shirt fall to the floor. He would’ve felt very stupid if Barnes hadn’t looked absolutely enchanted by his performance, and previously unknown power surged through him, seeing the effect he had on Barnes.

Barnes’s — or James’s, really — eyes widened even more, hands fisting the sheets, and his erection was very visible through the thick fabric of his jeans.

But hey, so was Steve’s.

“Like what you see?” Steve smiled.

Barnes didn’t say anything, and Steve’s enthusiasm was about to evaporate when he suddenly shook himself. “The view would only be better if I could touch it,” he said.

Good mood returning, Steve lowered himself to kneel on the bed with one leg on either side of James who reached up for him immediately. There was no hiding the shiver that run up his body along with James’s hands.

“Like this?” Steve whispered.

“You’re so stunning,” James kissed his jaw, then moved behind his ear, then to his neck.

Steve whimpered.

Kissing Barnes… was very addictive, and so were the hands roaming all over Steve’s body. He undoubtedly had more experience than Steve, and fine, Nat had been right, everybody needed practice — but then Steve banished anything and everything from his thoughts apart from the man under him.

Even if they could get away from the world for only one night, Steve wanted to give it _all_ for this night.

He wanted to touch James but he had to use his arms to keep himself upright. Being touched while unable to touch in return heightened the sensation, and James’s fingers left fiery prints on Steve’s skin, his lips burning impressions.

“Let’s get you out of this,” James pulled at Steve’s slacks at the belt-loop, and Steve could only nod.

The zipper got stuck, and Steve had to sit back on his heels as he tried his best to unzip his pants. His whole face got hotter and hotter as he felt James’s eyes on himself, and surely the floor would open anytime now and swallow Steve whole.

Then James surged up and kissed Steve so hard he forgot to be embarrassed about anything, and by the time reality caught up with him again, the slacks were halfway down his ass. He looked down to very, _very_ ripped seams.

“I’ll by you new ones,” James whispered wickedly.

“I don’t give a fuck about these,” Steve said, and James laughed.

“Good, ‘cause I was afraid you’d let them ruin the mood. Cockblocked by uncooperating zippers…”

Steve laughed as well, and lifted his hips so that James could roll the remainder of his pants down and toss them to the floor.

“That’d be a fun story,” Steve said, smile still in his voice.

His boxers left virtually nothing to the imagination, and the leftover insecurities from his sickly childhood still haunted him to this day. And yet he felt comfortable in his bareness as he pressed up to James head to toe — James's attention made him feel _exclusive_.  

Most of his weight was on James who was the opposite of bothered by this. Steve lowered himself to his elbows so that he could play with James’s strands. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered.

Something flashed in James’s eyes, coming and going too quickly for Steve to read, but he had a good guess about its nature. Maybe James’s scars weren’t only metaphorical, after all.

“I want to see you,” he said, desperately wishing to reassure James without being condescending. “Because you’re breathtaking, too, and your scars don’t change that.”

James exhaled loudly, then the playboy grin was back in full swing. “Give me a hand, then.”

However, there was another way to reassure James, and Steve palmed him through the denim. “Like this?”

“You bastard,” James hissed.

“Watch out what you call a national icon,” Steve warned, then lifted up a little to tug James’s shirt up and over his head.

The metal plates that formed James’s arm ran up his shoulder and disappeared into his torso. The scarring around the shoulder and over the ribs was prominent: pink and angry, every line speaking of pain and violence.

Steve, very aware that he was monitored, ran his right hand up James’s left, starting at the fingertips and mapping the plates as he went, up the elbow and biceps and shoulder and skin. He traced the scars without hesitation but with curiosity before he leaned forward to kiss James again.

James bit his lips gently, and his hands squeezed down on Steve’s. They shared the same hot breaths for a few seconds, staring into each other's eyes. Then James arched up again, pressing his body close, and his tongue felt better than any kind of alcohol as is slid into Steve’s mouth.

Somehow they got rid of James’s pants alongside his boxers, and then Steve’s as well. The endless skin in front of him had Steve’s mouth watering, and his heart beat faster at how James stared at him in return, like he really was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.

James grazed his cock with his flesh hand and Steve’s breath hitched. James’s kisses moved from Steve’s lips to his chin, to his neck, to behind his ears, and Steve gasped from the tender attention.

He let James maneuver him to his side so that they were both lying facing each other, and they could roam each other’s bodies with eyes and hands alike. Their hot breaths mingled as their foreheads touched.

“How d’you want us?” James whispered.

“This is nice,” Steve’s voice got about an octave higher as James kept caressing him.

“I want this to be better than nice,” James said, and his fingers traced Steve’s cock reverently. “I want this to be the _best_.”

Steve placed his hand on top of James’s and closed his fingers around his length. “I can…” Then a very unsexy thought hit him and he groaned.

“What?” James stopped, voice almost panicky.

“Condoms. I don’t think I have ones that aren’t… expired.”

He only looked at James when he said, “I didn’t bring any, either. I wasn’t counting on getting lucky.”

“You clearly aren’t,” Steve said, face still burning from embarrassment.

“I am though, I’m in bed with you,” James said seriously. “And you must’ve noticed that I’m enhanced, too.”

Steve looked down between James’s legs pointedly. “I have,” he said appreciatively.

Now it was James’s turn to groan and turn red. “Oh my god, you are insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Steve kissed him, and only stopped when James squeezed his cock, and Steve gasped.

“What I’ve been trying to say is that I’m immune to… diseases. And as far as I can tell, I can’t even transfer them,” James said.

“Good. I mean, yeah, that’s… me too. I can’t… STD either,” Steve said, mentally facepalming the whole time. Why was he embarrassed about talking about sex while also _having_ sex? _Get it together, Rogers._

James didn’t mind, only asked, “And do you mind being sticky?”

“Is _your hand_ stick-proof?” Steve asked back, nodding at the metal hand that’d been kept away from Steve’s intimate bits so far.

“Smartass,” James grumbled. But he let Steve grab his metal hand and pull it between them. “So no condom is fine?” He still asked.

Steve had the genius idea to roll his hips into James’s hand, so his answering “yeah” was broken up and drawed out, but James got the message and was kissing Steve again.

Their cocks slid against each other, creating magnificent friction. James kept his metal hand on Steve’s, and he used his right hand expertly instead as it joined Steve’s around their cocks.

James’s kisses traveled down his neck to suck a hickey onto his collarbone, and Steve arched into his touch, the breath hot and moist on his shoulder. They thrust into their combined palms and Steve was already beginning to lose himself to the perfect sensation of skin against sweaty skin.

Although it had been a long time ago, he remembered that being tipsy was just like this: a very comfortable and pleasant buzz, a state he wished would never end. James’s body moved against his flawlessly, finding a rhythm that quickly had them both panting. Steve’s mind was a blank page full of caps-lock versions of JAMES JAMES JAMES, because James was a magician with his clever fingers, encasing Steve in golden bliss.

Steve came first, with a low and reverberating growl that James kissed off of his lips. Then, when Steve began jerking James off, he followed with an absolutely precious whine, and gasped Steve’s name, and Steve never wanted to hear anything else. And when they looked into each others' eyes, Steve did not fight the drowning.

Afterwards they laid in each others' arms, sticky and satisfied, and instead of a second round they breathed in sync, and Steve fell asleep with soft strands of hair tickling his shoulder despite his best efforts, not even bothering to stand up to clean himself.

 

His blissful sleep lasted exactly until 4:27 in the morning when his phone beeped.

For a moment Steve forgot that he wasn’t alone, and when James jerked awake he almost struck out in panic. Then the memory of the previous night caught up with him, and he was almost surprised that James hadn’t crept out during the night.

“Wassat?” James blurred, in clear, Russian-free American. Steve stared; then his phone beeped again as a pathetic reminder to get his mind on the proper track.

“A mission,” Steve sighed as he read the text. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and was out of bed with the next movement.

Light glow told him that James also checked his own phone.

“I’m clear.”

“Go back to sleep, then,” Steve advised. He dressed quickly in his Captain America uniform, but stopped before he could click the shield home onto the harness and leave.

Something tugged at his heart.

He stepped back into the bedroom — for a moment, giving a good-bye kiss to James seemed not only a great idea, but outright _necessary_. But as he looked at the fast asleep man in his bed something held him back.

Maybe it would be too soon.

Maybe waking him up again would actually be for the worst.

He still rummaged around for a piece of paper and scribbled down a short message, in case James’s brain worked like Steve’s and deleted unnecessary information about sleep-disrupting events, and he put his phone number at the bottom. Then he placed the note onto his own pillow, thinking that James would look that way after he woke.

When he came back three hours later, evil baddie (who had had wanted to take over a few blocks with genetically engineered bats) apprehended, it was to an empty apartment and no sign of James ever having been there.

 

That happened four days ago, and James hadn't called him once.

“Man, just let me buy you something overly sweet to cheer you up,” Sam told him after a couple of minutes of relative silence.

“I'm not sad,” Steve protested.

He was maybe disappointed a little. That was different.

He slurped his chai latte with little to no enthusiasm,  which had nothing to do with the drink's quality. He and Sam both loved the place, a small, private coffee-shop that attracted all sorts of crowds, most prominently those that got fed up with the hipster-y and overpriced frappuccinos. So Sam and Steve routinely stopped after their morning runs to have a treat and avoid public attention.

“You could call him,” Sam offered. “Since you left first, and everything, he may even expect that.”

“I left him a note, was gone for a _mission_ and went back immediately,” Steve said. “He just… left.”

Not that the idea to reach out didn't tempt him. He could've easily looked up James's contact info in his SHIELD file, or have asked Tony, but. James had his number. James had his info as well. If he kept his distance, that must have been for a reason.

See, they spent that night together if not under false pretense, then still not in full honesty either. They played their parts and then parted ways. Although Steve would’ve loved to get to know the real James, the James he saw a peak of underneath his mask, that was clearly something James didn’t want.

The last thing Steve wanted to do was to try to forcefully rip the mask away.

“He could be on a mission?” Sam said.

“He isn't.”

“Oh.” Sam paused. “Your moping is off the charts, so hold on while I get reinforcements,” he said, and three minutes later came back with a huge, chocolate-frosted donut in hand.

“Thanks,” Steve said, interested. Unlike alcohol, chocolate still had an effect on him.

“You’re welcome. And I’ve been thinking — you could always ask Nat to help with revenge,” Sam said noncommittally.

“We are not unleashing the wrath of Black Widow just because I had a bad hookup,” Steve hissed.

“Why not; we are the Avengers, after all,” Sam said. But he didn't have his heart in it, now that he managed to get some non-heartbroken expression out of Steve.

Steve smiled at Sam with more enthusiasm now that he had some sugar in him.

”Well, you'll meet him on a mission at the very least”?? Sam pointed it out. “And I'll get extra amounts of chocolate chip and caramel ice cream, in case he doesn't reach out.”

 

Steve hoped but doubted that greatly, but he gratefully smiled at Sam nonetheless. 

 

However, Sam's prophecy about meeting with James on a mission came true in the form of a call to Assemble a week later. The ringing of his phone interrupted Steve's afternoon of watching some classic Star Trek and arguing with strangers on Twitter about the left-wing and political correctness – under a fake account, of course. But then it was grabbing his duffle and out the door to get to the Quinjet coming for him: the fastest way around New York to beat the traffic to the scene of the crime. 

Natasha and Clint were already inside, coming from the Tower, while Tony and Sam had already flown to the scene, he learned from their briefing as he changed. Unlike the last time when it was him against a minor threat, this one drew the big guns to the field, and no wonder: people tended to take it seriously whenever Attuma tried to sink their city.

Hawkeye joined the already circling Iron Man and began shooting at Atlanteans from above, while Black Widow and Ant-Man took up the groundwork. Falcon was flying above, shooting and reporting.

Steve took the scene in quickly.

“Any news on Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver?” he asked.

“Family reunion, so don't expect them soon,” Tony answered through the comm. “And War Machine is escorting the President, so we're kinda understaffed.”

“We should push them back to the street, get them off of the Avenue,” Steve said.

“Good idea. Hawkeye, we take the west side,” Nat said.

“Antie, you with me on the east?” Tony asked, and Scott grunted, which left Sam and Steve in the middle.

They took positions, and slowly pushed the enemy's army backward. Steve hated the damage they caused, to the parked cars, the streets themselves, and the nearby buildings, which is why they decided not to call in the Hulk until it was unavoidable – but Steve at least enjoyed the exercise. Punching Atlanteans was much more satisfying than any bag, plus they counted as old familiars at this point, what with them and the Avengers having gone toe to toe a few times before.

In fact, Steve had the feeling that Attuma's heart wasn't even in the matter anymore, and that he attacked only because of habit. Sure, he lectured his men to be resilient and that all earthlings will perish, but he didn't even call up any of his Cabal buddies for the battle.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Steve said. “Ant-Man, can you grow a few sizes?”

That would effectively plug the end of the road they were on, and they could get rid of the Atlanteans at a faster rate.

“Sure, give me a sec and get out of the way,” Scott warned.

“Falcon, work with Iron Man on the flank.”

“And who's gonna watch your back?” Sam asked back.

“I can,” came a new voice, and Steve dropped his shield. Sure, it hit a sneaky fishman right in the chest, and Steve could make it look deliberate, but still. “I heard you could use some manpower?” James said through the comms.

“Cover the Captain,” Natasha ordered him firmly.

“Yes Ma'am.”

Then they were back in the fray.

If Steve would have ever worried about James having stayed away because he feared that their intimacy would have a detrimental effect on their cooperation as teammates, then that would’ve definitely been proven wrong by this battle.

Steve had been used to working with the Team, and he had an especially good rapport with Sam, but James... he was something else. He acted as if he was reading Steve's thoughts, or could see the future, and soon Steve found himself surrounded with shot and dead Ataleans. James never seemed to miss, and he calculated which enemy Steve would have time to strike down, and which needed to be gifted with a bullet to the head. Sometimes he shot an Atlantean just inches away from Steve, or where Steve's head had been a second ago.

“I was almost there,” Steve said after the first one, not wanting to raise alarms or accuse.

“Nah,” James said calmly. “I knew you'd see the one jumping from your three and move.”

Which was exactly what had happened.

And so Steve began counting on James as well. He didn't worry about certain attackers, just moved on faster and faster, and indeed, James took them out one by one, without having to talk about strategy at all.

Scott, meanwhile, sized up enough to become just a notch smaller than the buildings around, and picked Atlanteans up just to throw them back at Attuma.

Attuma, being a self-entitled prick, did not appreciate the proceedings.

“You human weakling, you do not deserve to be an opponent to the mighty Attuma!”

“I thought Thor was the mighty one?” Hawkeye asked, somewhat distracted.

And then lightning came from Attuma's staff and hit Ant-Man right in the abdomen, and Scott went down with a loud yelp.

“Scott!” Tony immediately flew to check on him, but by the time he reached him, Scott came back on the comms.

“I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm just… ugh, normal sized again, sorry.”

“Take a time out if you need it,” Steve said, and he made the mistake of looking back at the shrunken Scott and the hovering Tony, and saw a glimpse of James — silver plates he knew exactly how felt against his skin, black leather that still haunted him in his dreams.

And then the worst thing Steve could’ve imagined happened.

The next lightning from Attuma’s staff landed right at James’s feet, and the ground blew up, sending concrete pieces everywhere, and James disappeared with a cut-off shout behind a layer of dust.

Steve saw _red_.

Suddenly he no longer perceived the world around him, but a bland, saturated reality where James didn’t exist anymore, and Sam’s words echoed in his mind — _we’re Avengers, after all_ — and Steve was a bull, and he looked at Attuma and saw red.

He checked his distance from the leader of the fishmen, leapt a few feet to gain momentum, and then ran up a car and jumped.

He didn’t have a plan, per se. He just wanted to _hurt_ to prevent Attuma from hurting others.

But he didn't have the best history of overpowering Attuma by himself, although it'd occasionally happened before – and maybe Attuma had been away from the water long enough to be somewhat weakened. Not that the opposite would’ve stopped Steve.

It still might not have worked, but Attuma received a grenade with a blinking light right at his feet, and jumped away frantically, right into Steve's incoming shield.

Attuma went down with a pang.

Steve didn't waste much time with him, instead ran at the grenade to cover it with vibranium before someone else got hurt, and he was still waiting for the explosion — when James showed up out of nowhere.

Alive and in one piece.

For which Steve was almost too grateful to note the black paint smudged around his eyes, and that he was armed to the teeth – arms he used very, very effectively on the remaining Atlanteans as he made his way to Steve. _Almost._ James kicked and punched and threw the enemy like they weighed nothing, all the while his movements were so elegant, so precise... reminiscent of Natasha, just with more brute force.

_Unhurt._

“Are you alright?” Steve still needed to hear the reassurance.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” James snarled at him, and _lifted_ Steve up by his forearm with enough force to also lift the shield that Steve had been crouching on. “What kind of an idiot _doesn't_ run away from an explosive?!”

“This kind,” Sam said, still taking out the remaining few Atlanteans from above.

“I needed to cover it so the explosion doesn't kill anyone!” Steve protested.

“And what if it had exploded while you were running towards it?” James fumed, and he pushed some things at the grenade – which, upon closer look, didn't look much like a grenade Steve had ever seen. “And to begin with, why did you charge at the Fish King like that?”

 _“Because I lost my mind when I thought I lost you”_ sounded lame even in his head. “I took a chance, and it was effective.”

“Are you suicidal?” James hissed. “Because this isn't self-preserving behavior.”

“We wouldn't be the Avengers if we cared more about ourselves than the lives we could save,” Steve puffed himself up to mask how stupid he felt. He stood at the same height as James, but James looked way more menacing than he did, and his eyes flamed under the black khol. “It _worked_.”

It did. It was Steve’s only remaining bit of  high ground, and he was going to die on it before he gave it up.

“And who's gonna stop the next Attuma if we die now?” James straightened, too. “Especially if we could prevent it? You know, by maybe letting your teammates know what you plan so that they can help by, I don't know, telling you that the grenade is just a dummy, meant to scare the bad fish away?”

…well.

“Then why are you so mad about me jumping at it if it wasn't even live?” Steve asked.

James rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Oh my God.” And then he let out a long line of Russian swears.

“Language,” Tony chirped, apparently loving that for once, it was Steve who got a lecture about safety, and not Tony.

“Welcome to the Avengers, enjoy your stay,” Hawkeye said.

“I told you so,” Natasha sing-songed.

“Oh my God,” James repeated exasperatedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They regularly fight Attuma in Avengers Assemble, so I borrowed him.
> 
> The bats, though, might have only come from the [4 Minute Window series by Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/series/197993) \- go read it, it's the best thing ever!


	4. i don't wanna be just another ex-love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the only kind of end game i'm willing to accept is this kind  
> Song: _End Game_

_i hit you like bang_

_we tried to forrget it, but we just couldn't_

 

The media, quite obviously, knew about Barnes joining the good side. But he had not been announced to be an official member of the Avengers, which Fury wanted to remedy after their first (and spectacularly successful, i.e. good for PR) mission. He gave the team a heads-up in their post-mission briefing, then let the group go, only to call Steve aside before he could've had a word with James.

“Sir?” Worryingly, Steve’s first thought was that Fury must have found out about their one-night stand and wanted to tell Steve off.

Fury, however, just handed him a rather thick manila folder. “As the team leader of the Avengers, you have a right to see the Winter Soldier’s full file.”

The idea of knowing more about James felt like a huge breach of privacy, but it also tempted Steve just as much as the man himself did.

He took the file.

Fury lingered. “Be careful,” he said, nodding at the folder. “It contains some… messed-up things. But you should know your team if you want to win the fight.”

And with that ominous sentiment, he left.

Steve stared at the unmarked cover like it could bite his hand off at any moment.

There was a reason he didn’t google James. People like them had little to no room for privacy to begin with; or at least, a large part of their lives hadn’t. He did not wish to narrow that small room even more. But it didn’t mean that he didn’t want to look. To know everything about James, to satisfy that itch living just under his skin…

He really had no right. Not after James effectively refused to have anything private with him.

But as a team leader, he had to know. Any disadvantage that came out of Steve making a bad call just because he didn’t know that someone was sensitive to an element, or something, was solely on Steve. And he had read the other Avengers’ files, too.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t have sex with them.

Except for Sam.

He sighed and tucked the folder under his armpit. The least he could do was to tell James that he read the file, because he had to, to make the field a little more even. Maybe he could offer his own file to James.

He barely left the conference room when a wild hand appeared out of nowhere to casually guide him to the emergency stairwells.

“You could’ve ambushed me over a coffee, you know,” Steve sighed.

“I know, but you looked ready to just sit down and start reading,” Nat said.

“And that would be bad because…?” he asked, despite having spent the last few minutes debating exactly that. But he could kid himself that Nat didn’t know until it was proven otherwise.

“Because you consider me a friend, and as a friend, I ask that you don’t read that.”

“Why?”

“Look, there are,” Nat shook a strand of her hair out of her face with moderate frustration, “certain things in that file that you might prefer to hear from Barnes.”

Steve wanted to ask something polite, something that reflected the tentative hope resurfacing in him. What came out instead was a demanding and absolutely uncalled for, “How would you know?”

Natasha's eyes narrowed. “Take it down a notch, Rogers. There are lots of things you don't know.”

Steve hunched in on himself. “Sorry, I don’t… sorry.”

She took mercy on him. “Look,” she said. “I'm telling you this because you call me a friend – but he calls me a friend, too.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but Nat just looked out into the distance before gracing him with an explanation. “Him and I, we... knew each other, before. In Russia.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“So I know that he’ll tell you if you ask, but he won’t like it,” she continued, nodding at the file.  

Steve respected that, but… “I still have to know my team.”

“You can learn what you have to from this,” she pulled a USB stick out of her pocket. “It’s a redacted version of his file. Contains what is necessary for being an Avenger.”

Steve eyed it – and her – speculatively. She rolled her eyes.

“I did the file on Stark, too, and you were satisfied with that.”

“I trust you,” Steve said. “But what’s in Stark’s file is only the version he let you and SHIELD see.”

“What makes you think Barnes is any different?” she asked, which was fair. He reached out for the stick in acknowledgement but she didn’t let go immediately.  “Before you go – I know you sneaked away after Tony’s latest party and yet you’re not talking right now. Why?”

“Are you asking as his friend or mine?” he asked, because he was good at deflecting.

She rolled her eyes theatrically. “Don’t be childish. Whatever you’re doing, it’s hurting you and it’s hurting him, too — why are you avoiding each other?”

“I left him my number but he never called me,” he said. “ _And_ he’s avoiding me.”

“Don’t give up on him,” she said. Steve raised an eyebrow. Nat looked completely unimpressed. “Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t the love and leave kind, and neither are you. Use your stubborn for something good and give him a chance.”

“Will that make you stop wanting to set me up with various ladies from the office?” he asked, hoping to ease the seriousness of their conversation.

“We’ll see.”

She let go of the pendrive, and he moved on to the next crucial point.

“Why is it digital and the other manual?”

Nat just raised her eyebrows even higher, and Steve closed his eyes in defeat.

 

Steve started his laptop and considered the file on the edge of desk.

He wanted to look inside. He wanted an in to James’s secrets, to see below the mask. It was only a few inches away… but giving in felt like losing control.

Again.

_Shit._

That was… he had been so ridiculously unprofessional during the mission he really had no words for it.

He forcefully directed his attention away from the embarrassing memory, but that only brought Nat’s words to the forefront of his mind along with his conflicting emotions.

The file sat on Steve’s desk, right in front of him, tempting him like some kind of Lucifer, promising eternal knowledge.

But at what cost?

He shook himself, having no idea how long he stared at the cover — but he trusted Nat.

He plugged the USB in instead, and used the time of the system booting up to hide the paper file in the lowest drawer of his desk, under stacks of other documents so that he wouldn’t even need to look at it and be tempted.

 

Nat’s condensed version of the file contained little other than what Steve himself had already figured out during the battle and their night together. James had superhuman strength, speed and stamina, almost exactly like Steve. But unlike Steve, he was good with every weapon underneath the Sun, or so it seemed; while he preferred a sniping gun, he also mastered grenade launchers, knives, guns… and then, of course, there was the metal arm: by far his most lethal weapon.

Not that it wasn’t capable of much more… delicate things.

Steve shook himself and willed his mind back onto the track.

James was a very worthy addition to the Avengers: they needed more manpower on the ground. Sure, there was Steve, and he would stand by the fact that the shield could get nearly any job done, but he was only one man. Sam and Clint usually covered the rest from above; Nat was more of a spy, better with thievery than excessive battles; and none of them were enhanced. Pietro was fast, but had a lot to learn, and Steve knew that one day Wanda would become their strongest member, in every sense of the word, but she got unstable when her emotions overwhelmed her. Thor was great for smarts and brute force, and so was Bruce, but Thor spent half his time on Asgard and the Hulk was reserved as a last resort. Scott could use being small or big but with limitations, as proven by the battle with Attuma, and then there were the two armored ones, well… Rhodey wasn’t an official Avenger, and was away on USAF missions more often than not, and Tony was an absolute multi-tool, good from far away and up close, until something got through his shell and he fell, fell, fell.

Yeah, Steve still had nightmares about _that_ , alongside the _aliens_.

So Steve opted not to call Iron Man when sorcery was involved, for which Pepper routinely thanked him.

All in all, James could be exactly what the team needed. Not to mention how well he worked together with the rest.

Or at least Steve.

He only wished he had more info on the arm, if it could be short-circuited the same way Tony’s suits sometimes could be, but the file remained suspiciously silent about those details. Steve’s eidetic memory filtered everything into useful little categories, and his mind would pull up the relevant info whenever needed. He still scrolled back to the top to double-check, but no, nothing about the arm beyond the fact that it existed, was made of metal (unnamed alloy) and granted a stronger left side to James — and also no date or place of birth.

Weird.

There was also nothing in there about what exactly the Winter Soldier’s espionage missions entailed, back when he worked for the Russians.

Then Steve almost jumped out of his skin when his computer beeped at him with a pop-up message from Tony.

_!Team celebration RVSP_

Steve sighed.

_When?_

_.TONIGHT._ _Tower. Bring a swimsuit_

Uh-oh.

_A swimsuit?_

_.I can get you one if you don’t have it_

Oh God no.

_No, I do._

_5pm. BE THERE_

Steve sighed again, for good measure. So much for keeping his distance with James — but there was no use saying no to Tony; JARVIS could just detect his location from his phone, so Tony knew he was still in Brooklyn, and being a nosy hacker, he also probably saw that he had no missions scheduled.

Steve wistfully thought back on the times when an all-knowing AI freaked him out instead of it being a normal part of his life, and he shoved his swimming trunks into a duffel to ride to the Tower with. At least he was spared the decision of whether he should call James or not: chances were they would meet, and Steve could find out if Nat was right about James.

 

He changed in the privacy of his own suite in the Tower, not knowing what to expect from the “party”.

Once he had believed he would have more confidence about his body, and more respect from the world, if he became big and healthy — a _real_ man. But after the serum it became abundantly clear that nobody cared about his inner thoughts, only about how much he could lift and how many things he could sell — Peggy having been the obvious exception. Instead of a small weakling, the world saw a dull weapon, now, and Steve inside was invisible.

So while he wasn’t self-conscious, per se, about his body, he was self-conscious about how others may think of him based on his body, so he pulled a simple blue T-shirt on, feeling more or less okay in that and blue trunks.

“Welcome, welcome!” Tony greeted him in swimming trunks that had little Iron Man helmets printed all over when Steve followed JARVIS’s lead to the upper deck of the roof. Tony, too, was wearing a T-shirt, covering the scar of the ARC reactor, and he had a cocktail in hand with a little yellow umbrella. “Beach party!” he exclaimed and gestured behind him, and Steve looked around in mild horror to see fairy lights up everywhere — unlit, as the Sun was still shining brightly. The Avengers were loitering around on rattan chairs in various swimming attires, all around a huge swimming pool that had not been there a day before.

“That’s a swimming pool, not a beach,” Steve pointed out.

Tony waved, somehow managing not to splash his drink. “I would’ve invited you out to my Long Island loft but why commute when you can have this? And Pepper said no to my idea of making the roof more beach-like with sand.”

 _Thank God for Pepper,_ Steve thought. Tony grabbed him to drag him closer to the rest: Pepper in a nice white dress, talking with Wanda and Bruce and sipping from her own cocktail.

“Why now?” Steve asked.

“Because nobody is on a mission—”

“— except for how Thor is still on Asgard,” Bruce interrupted.

“— and because you couldn’t attend my 4th of July party! Your own birthday party, Steven!”

“It was your party, Tony, not Steve’s,” Pepper said. Steve smiled at her gratefully; he had purposefully been scheduling away missions on the 4th of July. The propaganda from the forties stuck: everybody believed that to be his birthday, and somehow Steve failed to correct them on the matter.

“Fine, fine, but we can have some fun now, while the weather is still nice, can’t we?”

Nat, Clint and Sharon stepped out to the roof from the indoors at that moment, drawing Tony and his enthusiasm away.

“Since when do we even have a pool?” Steve asked Pepper.

“Oh, the floor can close over it, and Tony had it designed and installed last month,” Pepper said, and squinted up at Steve from the cover of her beach hat. “And JARVIS is keeping an eye on the sky so we can enjoy ourselves without being watched — which was why Tony wanted this party here and not on a real beach. If you want anything to drink, we have a minibar outside.”

Steve followed her advice, and found a fully equipped bar in the shade of three huge beach umbrellas — which was less surprising than Vision, of all beings, pouring and mixing drinks while he chatted with Rhodey and Scott. Steve noted with relief that other than Scott, everybody else on the rooftop also had shirts on.

“Hey Cap! Want something to drink?” Scott asked immediately.

“Maybe a beer,” Steve replied, knowing nothing would actually affect him, and being somewhat wary of how Vision used mind-powers to uncap the whiskey for Rhodey.

“How’s Cassie?” he asked Scott once he had the bottle in hand.

“She’s playing the main character in her school play!” Scott said, and began to relay the story in question to Steve with great detail, even though Steve missed about half of the required cultural references. But he nodded along nonetheless; Scott’s enthusiasm was catchy, after all.

Soon after Rhodey joined Scott to swap stories of daughters with nieces, and Vision hurried away to stop Pietro from annoying Clint before Steve could ask him about the meeting with Magneto.

The rest of the team arrived in various swimming attires as the Sun was slowly dipping below the horizon and the fairy lights lit up. Sam walked past Steve to get another beer, Bruce was conversing with Nat, Tony was trying to coax Pepper into the water while still on the ground, and… James was talking to Sharon.

He was — he still looked good. Hair up in a bun again, earrings bare for the world to see, in a black tank top and black training slacks, pose screaming “game on” with how he leaned forward and smiled at Sharon.

Except. Steve had seen him with a different smile, and this one didn’t even compare.

He spotted Wanda and made a beeline for her after almost spilling his beer all over himself — he needed a moment of composure. She must’ve sensed something, because she moved away from Nat and Bruce and took Steve’s side without question.

“You look ready to walk into the pool without noticing,” she murmured.

Steve would’ve completely been lost without the women in his life.

They sat down on the opposite side of the roof, and Steve thankfully — and curiously — asked about Vision’s introduction to Magneto.

“It went better than expected,” Wanda said. “Charles was there, and thank goodness because he can sweet-talk Erik into anything. And you were right, Pietro was a nice comic relief — he loves being the joker of the family. Always cheered me up, too.”

“I’m glad you had him,” Steve said wistfully.

“Oh no, don’t you dare be sad,” Wanda warned, sensing Steve’s mood turning into awfully close to pity — Steve lost his dad before he even met him, and his Ma when he was a teen, and Wanda and Pietro went through losing parents they never knew, then losing their adoptive parents, then finding out their biological dad was alive but was considered to be dangerously close to a terrorist.

Then again, their new dad-in-law, if you will, was the leader of a bunch of superheroes, so.

“Why does everybody think I’m sad when I’m not?”

“Because your moping doesn’t even require telekinesis to detect,” Wanda replied. “What’s wrong? And does it have to do with tall, dark and handsome over there?” she nodded at James.

Steve seriously, _seriously_ hoped her voice didn’t carry over there, and lowered his own into almost a whisper when he told her about the fight with Attuma, including his own reckless behavior.

“It didn’t look so insane in the news,” she said. “You do this kind of thing often enough anyway.”

Steve glared. “It’s not just that,” he said, then went silent, not knowing how to continue.

Wanda spared him the trouble of opening up and telling her about James by reading it all on his face.

“Remember what you told me when I was uncertain about Vision,” she said gently. “You deserve good things, and you won’t know if this relationship is a good thing until you try.”

Steve glanced at James, who may not have been at the center of attention, like at the Gala, but he was no less charming. He made Bruce chuckle and glance away bashfully, which was not something Steve had ever seen, and he had also been very sure that Bruce wasn’t interested in men — but maybe it was in just James’s nature to rewrite the odds. He escaped flirting with Sharon without being mauled by either Sharon or Nat, after all.

That would’ve hurt more, that James wanted to score all the Avengers, if Steve had believed it for one second. His gut told him otherwise, however, and he had learned to trust that feeling. And he seriously hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking, because he seriously, really, honestly didn’t want to be just one out of the many James had taken to bed.

Wanda looked at Steve expectantly, and he took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” he said.

He realized he _did_ want to try. He wanted that smile aimed at him. He wanted to be more than just a one-night stand. He wanted to hear James’s laugh and be the reason _for_ it.

And he had to know if James would like that; to stop this torture either way, once and for all. If not, at least Steve could work on moving on.

“Will you excuse me if I…”

“Of course; go,” she said with a grin, and Steve straightened to face the challenge head on, just like he had always had.

 

By then, James and a freshly arrived Rhodey were discussing weaponry with the help of a holoscreen.

After only taking three steps in their direction, Nat came up beside Steve with an air of projected innocence.

“Oh good, I was just about to ask the Colonel for some advice,” she said when they were within earshot. She swiftly linked her arm into Rhodey’s and push him closer to Tony and the rest of the group with some loud remarks about his latest mission.

This effectively left Steve and James behind.

All of the extended Avengers stood under the golden glow of the fairy lights, and all of them watched Wanda magic images into red sparks — a bewitched cinema. Steve could make out a younger Pietro getting stuck between some… pillars? And nobody was paying any mind to Steve and James on the sidelines.

Natasha was a genius.

But before Steve could say anything, James spoke up. “Poor Stark, nobody is using his pool,” he commented, looking at the empty pool instead of at Steve.

“And barely anybody is abiding the dress code,” Steve added. No wonder: between them they had enough scars, mental and physical, for multiple lifetimes of body dismorphia. Once upon a time he would’ve thought Tony was insensitive to disregard that, but in reality he just needed the pool for the atmosphere.

“What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” Steve said, only mentally adding, _mainly myself_. And, remembering how reluctant James was to shed his shirt, he didn’t ask for his reason. “Besides, it’s not even that warm anymore.”

James looked at him directly for the first time that evening. “You don’t like the cold either, huh,” he said wistfully.

“Nope,” Steve said with fake cheer, and i decided to change the topic. “But the beer is good,” he lifted his half-empty bottle.

“Is it?” James asked with disbelief. “You don’t act like it.”

“It doesn’t affect me and I never liked the taste,” Steve admitted. “You?”

James’s considered his own bottle, completely empty. “I’ll need another to answer that, but I really don’t want to bore you. Why don’t you go back to the rest?” he gestured at the Avengers.

His voice was indifferent, but Steve didn’t fall for it. “I prefer your company.”

Baffled, James rolled back on the balls of his feet. “You shouldn’t.”

“I do, and I liked our night, too.”

James was silent.

Steve exhaled. “Look, if you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I don’t want to. And I really didn’t want to leave the last time, but—”

“You can stay,” James interrupted him. “Just please don’t bring… don’t bring that up.”

Worry coiled in Steve’s stomach. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” James exclaimed, then glanced around nervously before lowering his voice. “No. I just don’t want to talk about that.”

 _That_ hurt. A lot. Steve didn’t want to push, but he also felt horrible for just leaving it at that — he didn’t know how to read James, now, and he was always rubbish at tact and emotions. He took a deep breath and threw caution in the wind.

“Okay. Then, since we don’t know each other much — I’m Steven Rogers, call me Steve,” he said, and offered his hand.

James stared at it for a long while, and up at Steve’s face, before he rolled his eyes. “You’re mental, is what you are.”

“Been called worse,” Steve shrugged, not lowering his hand.

“What the hell,” James murmured, and shook his hand. “James Barnes. Call me James.”

“Nice to meet you, James. Would you like something to drink?”

“Whatever you have is fine,” James waved, then was startled again when Steve put his own glass into his hand.

“There you go.”

He seemed to be completely thrown off his game by this, but Steve didn’t let himself be distracted as he turned to find himself something else to drink.

James followed him to the minibar, where Steve fished a cold bottle from the fridge.

“Cheers,” he clicked the bottles together, but James still hasn’t reacted. “You want a glass?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Let's protect the environment by keeping things clean,” Steve agreed, and James's eyes suddenly twinkled.

“That's my motto too,” he said, and before Steve could ask what he meant he clicked the neck of his bottle to Steve's, then took a long sip. Steve followed the line of his lips around the glass and the movement of his Adam's apple. Steve clutched the sweaty bottle, suddenly unsure – why did James drinking from his old bottle feel weirdly intimate?

Then again, this was a night when nothing made sense.

“So what do you think about it?”

“I’m thinking I’m glad I can’t get drunk on this stuff,” James said.

And then they just stood there. Bottles in hand. Looking at each other.

“So how do you like the US?” Steve asked, desperate to find a topic. James arched an eyebrow, but Steve soldiered on. “This is normal first-meeting conversation, right?” he asked.

“You don’t give up, do you,” James asked, this time with a small smile on his lips.

“Not easily, no,” Steve agreed. “Unless you tell me to back off.”

“I should.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“We are just going in circles,” James pointed out.

“Okay, then, really — how do you like it here? It can be overwhelming, at first, especially New York.”

“Mother Russia isn't too easy on your nerves, either,” James said, going with the detour, but his grin was too flashy and too... overselling, to be real.

With each passing moment, James reminded him of a chameleon more and more, and Steve contemplated his options: he could call out Barnes, but that probably lead nowhere if someone was already projecting to cover something. He could pretend he didn't notice, but again, they would go nowhere without some traceable amount of honesty.

Steve took another sip while he improvised a third option.

“It did overwhelm me, when I woke up in the future,” he offered quietly. “Everything became so strange and so unfamiliar.”

Barnes visibly paled at the admission, but he didn't draw back.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“I had to find myself again,” Steve said, which was something that not many had heard him say, other than Sam. But it was worth a try, to open up, to show Barnes that Steve wasn't here to judge. Who knows, maybe that was the problem?

“I don't know what I would do in the future,” Barnes said honestly. “I don't think I would deal as well as you have.”

Steve let out an unhappy laugh. “I don't think I've coped well. Ask... second thought, don't ask anybody about that. I'm not proud of how many nights I spent down at the gym.”

“Yeah?” he asked again, this time with a lot more certainty. “If that gym had large windows then I'm sure you could've charged them a fortune for PR purposes.”

Steve found himself matching Barnes's smile. “Who says I didn't?”

“Smart man,” Barnes nodded. “Stark's been rubbing off on you?”

“I come from an Irish family that survived the Depression,” Steve said. “Stark's a _nobody_ compared to our resourcefulness.”

In terms of saving, at least.

Barnes snorted. “I bet that, between us, we could survive on nothing but duct tape and hope.”

“Probably,” Steve said, grinning. “But it's nice that we don't have to, anymore.”

For some reason that was the wrong thing to say, because Barnes sobered up quickly. The jovial expression vanished from his face, and Steve expected him to draw back physically, but at least that blow never came.

“Yeah.”

James walked to the edge of the roof, and Steve slowly followed him. They looked out to the pool, and the Avengers next to it, and the pale orange sky — the clouds reflecting the city lights. The Sun had gone down a while ago, and the vibrant colors of the city stood out against the black background of the night. Steve was reminded of their first real conversation about stars, and how they both missed them, and how this night wasn’t going to help with that.

He really wished to be on the beach, where less buildings meant less light pollution. Coney Island or the Brooklyn docks had nothing on the wide expanses of European coasts in terms of scenery, he had realized even when bullets were flying around him, and yet he wished not to take James overseas, but down to the Atlantic where they could take off their shoes and roll up their pants, eat hot dogs and wish upon stars.

That always used to be his dream date as a kid, even though he never had anybody to take there until the war.

“What are you doing here with me, Steve?” James asked quietly, without looking at him.

Steve stood silent for a while, collecting his thoughts, weighing his options — but honesty was his first and best choice, no matter what, and he fell back on it easily.

“I don’t know what I could tell you that I haven’t, before,” he said, and James looked at him with wide eyes. “I’m not good at this… flirting and relationships, and I—” _don’t know why you can’t believe I like you_ “wouldn’t mind giving us a second chance.”

James kept staring at him. Steve gripped his bottle tighter to mask his nerves. He wanted to say so much more: that he’d back off if James told him to, that even without his sensitivity trainings he never wanted to pressure anybody into anything, that he couldn’t read James very well but he had a feeling the attraction was mutual.

“You really never give up,” James repeated with wonder and exasperation in his voice.

“Tell me to and I will,” Steve challenged.

“I know,” James sighed. “You would, wouldn’t you. You’d be the perfect gentleman and pretend nothing happened.”

Steve huffed. “I’m not perfect,” he said. “But I would, yeah. Team integrity aside, I don’t want to hurt you and I’m sorry if I have.”

“You haven’t,” James shook his head. “I… Can we talk not here and not now? Please?”

“Sure,” Steve said uncertainly.

James turned toward the elevator, and Steve’s heart sank deeper, but then James stopped to look back. “The day after tomorrow? My suite?” he asked quietly.

And miracle of miracles, he tentatively returned Steve’s own smile when Steve agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SHIT AT WRITING NON-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS i'm so sorry
> 
> You have no idea how much ANGUISH this chapter has given me. I've re-written it like 6 times, I have no idea how I could make it better, I just... this was definitely the hardest to write, but the following chapters will be much better executed (imho). 
> 
> I've tried to recapture the feeling of the music video, the dark night and the warm lights, even if I sadly couldn't put them on a literal beach. Hope you like it though! :)


	5. is it too soon to do this yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Delicate_

_we can't make_

_any promises now, can we, babe?_

_but you can make me a drink_  

 

 

> RUSSIAN ASSASSIN BECOMES AVENGER
> 
> The Avengers assembled to face Attuma, long-time member of the Cabal and King of Atlantis on Thursday in a short battle, barely long enough for many new insurance claims from the buildings and vehicles destroyed in Bath Beach, Brooklyn. Normally a story like this would hardly reach the front pages – this particular battle, however, is noteworthy for a reason.
> 
> Not because of the absence of Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch, although some may be curious as to why they didn’t help with saving the greatest city in the world. It’s not even thanks to one of Ant-Man’s rare growing moments – see the picture below – which, some claim, was visible from the Brooklyn Bridge.
> 
> The reason why this battle is significant is because it marks the first appearance of the Winter Soldier as part of the Avengers.
> 
> The Winter Soldier has joined the Avengers last week at a fundraiser gala (click here to see our coverage), and unofficial rumors have been flying for weeks about his joining Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. But up until now, those had only been rumors.  
>  However, Director Fury from SHIELD issued an official statement after the battle, stating James Barnes, aka. the Winter Soldier, has become a member of the Avengers.
> 
> He isn’t the first later addition to the original six: first Falcon and the aforementioned Ant-Man joined the team, and later the twins, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. And Barnes isn’t even the first one with a questionable morale and past actions. That’s right, dear readers: for those that assumed the title was referring to Black Widow, we regretfully have to inform you about the crimes Barnes has committed against the United States.
> 
> Barnes worked for a Russian terrorist group called the Red Room as an assassin and a spy. His kill-count reaches into the mid-twenties, although his exact target list is still confidential. As a result, it’s not surprising that his becoming an Avenger was met with uproar, mostly on twitter.
> 
> Launched by @realamericanheroes, the #notmyavenger hashtag is currently trending as number one. @realamericanheroes aptly wrote, "the Widow was bad enough, but I guess you can’t be picky when aliens are attacking – but what’s the excuse now?" The tweet has over seven thousand retweets.
> 
> Natasha Romanoff isn’t the first with a past some see not worthy of being an Avenger. Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, and Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man, have notorious criminal records, and of course we are all familiar with Tony Stark’s antics. Not one of them, however, are personally and directly responsible for killing so many prominent Americans as the Winter Soldier.
> 
> The sentiment is shared by “Alliance for Traditional Family and Parenting” spokesperson Mrs. Deborah Miller, who urged members of her association and those that want to protect America’s values to call their senators and lobby. "Our children need better role models than killers and outlaws!" she tweeted.  
>  Indeed: sadly now the Avengers are almost made up of outlaws more than commendable citizens. One rare example is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, who fought Attuma alongside Barnes, but appeared to have a disagreement with him afterwards. The nature of their dispute is unclear, and so are its lasting effects on the relationship between the teammates. The only certainty is that the Captain, following the expected SHIELD protocols, praised Barnes’s work and welcomed him to the team on Twitter, though rather impersonally.  
>  Where this new addition leads the team that is supposed to save the world, and what will happen to the real heroes, is yet to be seen.
> 
> COMMENTS (5619) - SHOW TOP
> 
> _Cap is saying what’s expected, its not his fault his team is shit_  
>    
>  _people like Romanoff and Barnes would be shot in a country not poisoned by political correctness and SJW propaganda_
> 
>   
>  _give Barnes a chance. the twins and romanoff proved themselves with time too._

 

Every Avenger had a suite in the Tower. Steve found out that Tony had originally intended a whole floor for each member, and only changed his mind when he realized that the Tower would be functioning only as a secondary location for the team. Even he himself spent a third of his time in California, after all. So the idea of full floors got reduced to a few rooms for each member, with a huge common kitchen and a spacious recreational area, all equipped with state of the art technology and the most comfortable things money could buy.

The suites themselves were still pretty large, though: Steve's had a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room with bookshelves, a set of couches and armchairs, and a fully functional kitchen.

This was where Steve and James had come back to after the party. Steve mostly used the place when he couldn't be bothered to go back to Brooklyn after a mission before rest or when he wanted to avoid the rush hour, and therefore wasn't too attached. But after he found the bed empty of James, he favored it somewhat even less than before – the loss of what they could've had together tore at his ribs every time he lay down on his sheets and remembered what they _had_ had.

But this time, Steve was going to James's room.

He began the day by destroying a sandbag in his Brooklyn loft. He then tried and failed to lose himself in a documentary about Carl Sagan as he still had so many holes in his historical and popular culture knowledge – holes he couldn't fill when his mind was wondering about what James's place was going to be like.

He agonized over what to wear, too, and in the end settled with the classics: brown leather jacket, jeans, and a simple blue button-up. On the ride to Manhattan he almost took a detour to buy something, a bottle of scotch, maybe, but he stood on such uneven ground that he couldn't tell if that was a good idea or not. And then in the next moment it was already his station and then he was standing in front of James's door.

James looked completely different than before, Steve noted after his knock was answered. His hair was loose, covering the shaved side above his left ear and the piercings, and combined with his grey knitted hoodie it gave him a cozy, unthreatening appearance.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

At least then James had the mind to break the awkwardness by letting Steve in.

The apartment wasn't much more lived in than Steve's – no wonder, if James had just recently moved to the States. But Steve still wasn't expecting the occasional spurts of bright colors over Tony's typical beige and black and steel interior – a tartan thrown over the couch with red and orange tribal patterns, a flower pot with something similar in the corner, a rug underneath his feet in dark blue. It reminded Steve of that Ethiopian place Bruce liked.

Then his eyes were back on James. “Thanks for inviting me,” he said.

James smiled at him. “I wasn't gonna,” he admitted, and Steve noted that he was drawling again.

“What changed?”

“Want something to drink?” James asked, and led Steve to the kitchen instead of answering.

At least the layout of the apartment was similar, if not identical to Steve's, and the kitchen had the same tribal accents – probably one of Tony's quirks.

“Your place, you chose,” Steve said, and a wry smile crossed James's lips.

“I have something special,” and he pulled a bottle of wine from a shelf. “A gift from Clint, from when I moved here.” He rummaged around for a corkscrew, and conspiratorially added, “Natasha told me that he got it as a present from someone, too.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, let's try it.”

James also pulled out two fancy glasses, and then poured. Steve followed his every movement, because James was just as graceful and smooth as in the battlefield, just less deadly. Well, except for how he could've killed Steve with that corkscrew in six different ways with one (flesh) arm, probably. Steve's eyes still roamed his lips as James lifted the glass to smell the wine before he took a careful, small sip. His face remained blank, but he gave a prompting look to Steve.

Steve was less careful with the wine, and he regretted it immediately – it must've been on the shelves for years, which didn't help the initial _awful_ taste, and Steve spluttered as the dusty, acidic taste hit his tongue. James laughed out so loud at Steve's gagging that Steve considered pouring the rest over his head.

“This is horrible,” he wheezed.

“Yeah,” James took another sip, but only to begin coughing again. “So, so horrible.”

“Why are you drinking it?'” Steve looked at him in horror.

“I'm immune to most poisons,” James shrugged, and then Steve couldn’t help it and burst out laughing as well.

After another sip  James poured the rest down the sink, and took Steve’s glass to boot.

“I’m immune to poisons too,” Steve said.

“I can be a better host than that.”

“You should've given it forward,” Steve said. Then he imagined Tony's face upon receiving such a horrible gift and had to fight the giggle that was threatening to bubble out of him.

“I have,” James tapped the empty glass with his fingernail.

“Fair enough.”

James generously gave him a bottle of water from the fridge to wash the foul taste away. He also took down a tray full of cupcakes with colorful frostings from the top of the fridge, and placed one in front of Steve.

“This is better than the wine, I promise.”

“It could be nothing _but_ better than the wine,” Steve retorted, but the cupcake was indeed delicious. The rich chocolate exploded in his mouth, and the traumatizing memory of the drink faded. “Wow, this is amazing.”

“I know,” James smiled warmly, and swallowed a cupcake in one bite. Steve stared in awe. As much as James’s lips commanded attention, his eyes did even more. Steve wanted to drown himself in them, yes, and also wished those eyes looked at him the way he looked at James. He wondered if James sometimes fantasized about kissing Steve again, or… _more._ If James imagined them _together._

“I didn't want to reach out,” James said next, leaning on the counter, and Steve's stomach sank. For a moment – for only a moment – he had forgotten how their night ended. “And I wouldn't have, but you... you wanted to see me, you _talked to me,_ even after you saw me in action. During that mission with Attuma.”

“Yeah, you saved me a few bruised ribs with how you the fishmen out,” Steve said.

“And you still wanted to see me,” James wondered. “Despite _how_ I took them out.”

Steve blinked at him in confusion. “Yeah – you kinda saved me with that grenade.” He didn’t mention how badly he reacted to seeing James go down, and hoped that James wouldn’t, either, because he really had no excuse or explanation.

“But I chewed you another one, and people said—”

“I deserved what you told me,” Steve interrupted him.

“You didn’t read my file. Nat told me.”

Something uncomfortably close to jealousy stirred in Steve’s stomach, but he swallowed it back.

“You have the right for privacy. I’ve read Natasha’s debrief, so as long as it doesn’t compromise the Avengers…”

“Yet you wanted to see me. And now I’ve given you shitty wine.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, uncomprehending. “I, um, had a great time with you. That night. And now too... wait, is this a _test_?”

Suddenly he saw a lot of James’s earlier behavior in a different light: the need to draw attention to his prosthetic, or that he used to work against the US.

James smirked at him coyly. “I'm just asking. Because, you know, I had fun too, so I wouldn't... say no to a repeat of that night. Or more repeats, actually.”

Steve's heart hammered away in his chest as he stared at James. James looked back from under his lashes, the textbook definition of temptation, and Steve was tempted indeed. Even without strings attached, just a casual friends-with-benefits relationship, Steve would have loved to have his company — the sex was amazing, and by no means did it disrupt their official relationship. Contrary to popular belief, Steve had very human needs; the need for touch, the need to kiss, and he wasn't above taking it where he could, so long as it was safe and consensual.

He almost said yes on the spot.

However, something tingled in the back of his head: the alarm bell that usually signaled that something fishy was going on. And Steve had learned to trust that little bell, that weird sensation, long even before he got the serum.

Except, for a tactician, he never was good at actual _tact_ , and so what came out of his mouth was, “You're lying.”

James's eyes widened in shock, and Steve's hands flew to his mouth in horror. Jesus, the effect James had on him was _ridiculous_.

“I didn't mean – I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that,” he said, probably red as a beet, after lowering his hands and his head too.

But James only smiled at him fondly, and to Steve's furrowed brows he reached out to touch Steve's face. Steve sat there, paralyzed as James drew his finger across his face, but when he looked down at his own hands he saw the sweet frosting on his fingertips. He must've smeared that all over his face in his embarrassment.

So when James was about to pull his hand back, Steve grabbed it. He shocked James with that, too, and he had a fleeting wish to lick the frosting from James's finger, but he let that go, and instead just held onto James's hand.

“I really didn't mean it like that,” he almost-whispered.

“You did, and you're right,” James said softly, completely absent of his earlier teasing tone. “I don't want to repeat last time.”

Steve could've taken that to mean so many things, but this small, near shy James pulled the ground from under him. And yet, at the same time, he felt like he was making progress for the first time since they'd known each other.

“What do you want, then?” Steve asked.

James pulled his hand away and grabbed his bottle of water with both hands, and rolled it between his palms. He even leaned back, distancing himself from Steve – _bracing_ himself.

“The sex, I'd like to have more of, if you are willing,” he said, and Steve realized just how much of James's earlier performance was just that: a mask. Now he was soft, and honest, and vulnerable, and Steve wanted to reach out and embrace him, protect him from whatever was hurting him. Except it was probably _Steve_ James wanted to protect himself from. “I enjoyed that. But I enjoyed the night before just as much, just... talking with you.”

“I enjoyed that too,” Steve whispered after a pause.

James looked into his eyes, and Steve didn't protest against the drowning sensation.

“What I didn't enjoy waking up to an empty bed,” James finished, and the pieces finally fell into place.

“I can't promise another mission won't come up,” Steve said, and James jerked up.

“You mean...”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. He laid his hand down with his palm upwards to the kitchen island, and watched as anticipation and trepidation fought for control of James's face. “I don't want to wake up in an empty bed either.”

“I didn't think you were the one night stand kinda guy,” James's voice was hoarse, eyes still fixed on Steve's hand. “But that was more believable than you wanting to do anything with... me.”

Maybe Steve didn't want to do anything with the James he saw first at the Gala; a different James, a projection. Even then, though, something had flickered to life between them, and Steve wanted to preserve that something.

“I didn't think you'd want a relationship at all,” Steve said in return. “I guess we were both wrong.”

“I guess,” James said, and laid his hand on top of Steve's.

 

James's bedroom turned out to have a bed just as comfortable as Steve's, not that Steve was able to focus on more than the lips seeking his with fervor. Their first night had been all about hunger and satisfaction, a feverish dream, tasting expensive alcohol on each other as much as tasting each other.

Now they lacked the urgency and took their time.

James's stubble scratched Steve's skin, and Steve shivered, and kissed back harder, and James tugged Steve's shirt up so he could run his hands up and down Steve's back. The cold metal was tender over his skin like the wings of a butterfly, and Steve relaxed into the touch. He weaved his hands into James's hair, mindful of the earrings, and bit James's lip before kissing it, and his jaw, and the spot below his ear, and James moaned. He melted under Steve's touch, but when Steve sat back to discard his shirt, he arched up to keep the contact. Steve straddled him, and couldn't believe that he got to be with James again – that he wouldn't have to worry about what was next. That James _wanted_ him.

“What's wrong,” James cupped Steve's face when Steve went too long without moving.

“You look beautiful,” Steve said, and James honest to God blushed.

“I haven't been called that,” he said, and wiggled his metal fingers self-deprecatingly. “In a long time.”

Steve grabbed the hand in question and placed a kiss to each of his fingers. “I think you are beautiful.”

James pulled him down for a deep kiss. “You're sweet.”

“It's your muffins,” Steve said, and James grinned up at him.

“Smartass,” and to illustrate his point, he palmed Steve's ass firmly.

They both lost their clothes gradually, not moving away from each other for longer than necessary – not being able to tear their hands or eyes apart. And then James was delightfully naked in front of him, and more importantly, Steve was able to _touch._

“How do you want us?” Steve asked. His ran his fingers up and down James's dick, making him squirm all over.

“Me, in you, if that's all right with y– argh,” he bit off, because Steve changed his grip and jerked him twice.

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine by me,” Steve said easily. He straddled James, and he guided James's hand – the right one – between his legs.

James was just as skilled with his fingers as he was with a knife, just less deadly: he played with Steve’s balls while kissing Steve passionately, and used a generous amount of lube before he began stretching him.

But he didn't want to give Steve his left hand when Steve moved to grab it. Steve thought that was very unfair given that he himself had been playing with James’s cock, and as such had no helping hand left for _himself_.

“The metal isn’t good on flesh,” James said.

“I think it very much is,” Steve argued. “I like your touch.”

Then he reddened at how pathetic that just sounded.

James, however, stilled for a moment before he lurched up to kiss Steve intently. “How are you real,” he asked; then, “Why are you blushing at that and not at me being two fingers deep in you?”

“We'll never know,” Steve murmured into their next kiss.

He groaned when those fingers were replaced with something bigger, but James pushed in slowly, carefully, and let Steve adjust to his size while he languidly kissed him over and over again. Then Steve nodded, and they both moved in unison.

Every thrust of James’s hips sent sparks down Steve's spine. He murmured sweet nothings into Steve’s ear, and Steve was moaning his name, _worshipping_ him, really, because Steve never felt like his body was made for someone as much as him – he shuddered at every touch of James, wanted to keep him forever, only for himself, in the dark where they wouldn't be found –

James used his right hand and a liberal squeeze of lube to coax his climax out of Steve, and Steve moaned his name and rolled his hips along with James’s.

Soon after James was coming, too, opening his mouth to a soft O, and Steve kissed his eyelids before sliding off and curling up next to him. James panted heavily, but opened his eyes to a slit to stare at Steve in awe.

“Good?” Steve asked.

“How are you real,” James asked again, before throwing his arms around Steve to pull him close.

 

The sheets became uncomfortable after half an hour of dozing, and Steve got up to clean himself in the bathroom. When he came back with a glass of water and a wet towel for James, James was already throwing the bedding to the ground, but he slid up to Steve, cat-like, to give him a shy kiss.

They stretched out next to each other on the remade bed, Steve on his back, James curling to his side to rest his head on Steve's shoulder.

“Bucky,” James said.

“Hm?”

“My name is Bucky,” James repeated, and Steve looked at him in confusion.

“I thought it was James Barnes?”

“You think that's my birth name?” James – Bucky – snorted. “But now, officially, it is. James _Buchanan_ Barnes. I prefer Bucky.”

“Okay,” Steve said. And he felt a surge of pride, like he was let in on something important, something confidential. “Bucky. How did you become that, then?”

Bucky looked away, but his hand tapped a soft rhythm over Steve's chest. “I can't tell you.”

Well, that was strange. “Okay?” Steve repeated cautiously, curious about where this was going.

“I want to,” Bucky said. “And I will, I think. Just not yet.”

“I can live with that,” Steve kissed his lips softly. “Will you also tell me why your accent is more Russian when you’re in public?”

James stared, then shook himself. “I can answer that now: a Russian accent is what everybody expects from me, even though my teachers got that trained out of me long ago.”

Steve could understand that perfectly. But Bucky’s expression became distant – the exact opposite of what Steve wanted to see now.

“And I,” Bucky sighed, then looked up at Steve. “I'd like to keep this, _us_...” he gestured at their tangled limbs, “away from the public.”

Steve expected worse, based on how unsure Bucky began. “In the closet?” he asked, and when he put it like that, his heart sank – sure, the public didn't know that he was bi, but it still felt like a stab to his ribs. All his childhood's internalized fears came rushing back, and his insecurities about maybe Bucky not wanting to acknowledge him, that Steve would be too embarrassing for a boyfriend.

Bucky shot right up, though. “No, no, that's not what...” he tucked his hair behind his ears nervously. “Our friends, whoever you trust, we tell them – but the media, I don't... you saw how they reacted when my joining the Avengers was announced. I couldn't take it, right now, if they—” he waved his arms.

Steve sat up as well. Bucky crossed his hands over his legs, and maybe Steve only imagined the desperation in his eyes, but it still felt like someone squeezed his heart. This Bucky – and this _was_ Bucky, not James, the ladies' man public persona, but the gentle, emotional soul within – this Bucky had been hurt, had been given reason to feel inferior. A fire sparked into life in Steve's heart, threatening to burn the world down, to go too far for Captain America – but Steve crushed the fire before it reached a full roar. That wouldn't help Bucky. That wouldn't help anybody.

If they went open with their relationship now, without either of them being actually out, they would face a backlash bigger than Steve could even think of. And sure, it would break Steve's reputation as an innocent virgin, but it would come at the price of Bucky's state of mind. And Bucky already had a lot to deal with, he really didn't deserve Steve's shit to be added into the mix.

“We have to tell the Avengers, because they are our team, and we could affect them,” Steve said. “But otherwise, I'm fine by keeping it on the low.”

“And your friends,” Bucky insisted.

“My friends _are_ the Avengers,” Steve pointed out, suddenly somewhat self-conscious about his lack of social life.

“And you don't mind if we... keep it on the low?”

“Believe it or not, I'm not very keen on seeing myself on the front page of news rags, either,” Steve couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice, but it made Bucky smile. “We can take it slow. Quiet. I know some places that wouldn't tattle on us if we have a night out.”

Bucky looked at him like he promised to bring down the Moon from the sky.

“You'd do that. For me.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said. “I don't have too much experience with this sort of thing but I heard it's important that both parties feel safe and secure in a relationship?”

Bucky gaped at him with his mouth open for a moment, then he burst out laughing.

“You are something,” he said when he got it under control. “Something better than what everybody already says you are.”

“Am not,” Steve protested. “I just try to be decent. I'm not better than anybody. And don't believe everything you read in the papers – they don't know me.”

“Nor do they know me,” Bucky added quietly.

“I'd like to, though,” Steve said, and when Bucky smiled and nodded, he kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should mention that this is actually my first explicit nsfw fic - we will get a lot more explicit than this later - so be nice please! I'm only a newbie XD


	6. caught up in the moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _So It Goes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while this is officially a _So It Goes_ chapter, it has a lot of _Delicate_ feelings wowen throughout, and as such I recommend listening to the acoustic version of _So It Goes_ while reading. 

_you make everyone disappear, and_

_cut me into pieces_

_gold cage, hostage to my feelings_

 

"Wow. That escalated quickly," Sam said between panting breaths.

"Yeah," Steve admitted. He wasn’t even breathing hard, although he had lapped Sam a couple of times under the pretense of burning some steam but mostly just to annoy him.

He could still hardly believe what happened the day before, with– Bucky. Not James, but _Bucky_.

God. That felt huge. This whole thing between them felt huge.

"Alright," Sam said, and Steve turned to look at him fully.

"You don’t approve," he said.

Sam frowned. "Man, you don’t need my approval."

"No," Steve agreed. "Would be nice to have it, though. What are you thinking?"

Sam just breathed for a few feet. He contemplated his answer, and Steve enjoyed the tranquility of the morning – only a few joggers here and there in the park, and the early Autumn chill took care of the paparazzi and fans, too. The best place to discuss their issues, which in Steve’s case meant a near-full recount of  the events with Bucky.

"I know what it feels like to be hopeful after a long break. It could mess things up in your head." Sam said in a low voice.

The love for Sam in Steve's soul roared to life. For someone who had been alone through all this closet-shit in the forties, the knowledge that he had support, now, meant a lot more than he could ever express to Sam. Especially since he knew how much Sam had lost, too.

“And you reacted spectacularly badly to him leaving you,” Sam went on, then he stopped, hand pressed to his side, and Steve ran in one place by him. "Fuck. Why are we talking while running?"

"Because I can multitask," Steve quipped, and Sam threw his water bottle at him.

But it became clear that they were done, and so they headed home at a steady walk to cool down.

“You’re worried he might do that again?” Steve asked. “Walk out on me?”

“He changed his mind once, he can change it again,” Sam pointed out. “And with his current bad press, dating you could help his case _a lot_.”

Steve bit back his initial response of _"he wouldn’t do that"_. "He was the one who wanted to keep it quiet," he said, instead. "I doubt he’d do that if he was a gold-digger."

Sadly, the thought had occurred to him, too, and not without a basis in reality. He was too famous, and had first-hand experience with people who only smiled at him and said nice things because being with Steve opened doors for them. Ardell from the Gala, for instance, was one such person.

Hardly anybody but the Avengers saw Steve as Steve, and not as Cap.

But hell, Bucky was an Avenger and wore the same mask, had the same baggage at his feet.

"Natasha approves," Steve used the authority card shamelessly. He’d yet to tell Nat the latest development in his love life, but he doubted she’d mind it.

Sam shut his mouth with a click of teeth. "She isn’t omnipresent."

"She’s the closest we’ve got."

That, Sam had to concede. “Fair enough. Still… I might give him a shovel talk, even if it won’t do much given his record, but if you want…”

“No, please don’t,” Steve said hurriedly, stuck between amusement and mortification. “That was outdated even in the forties, you know.”

“Then you have to promise to be careful,” Sam bargained, and Steve had no qualms about agreeing with him.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then he took off into a vicious sprint before warning. "Race you to that bench!"

Steve grinned before jumping after him.

 

He headed to Brooklyn instead of the Tower afterwards, and sent a text to Nat as soon as he was in a clean body and clean clothes.

_Thanks for the advice about Bucky ;)_

His phone immediately started ringing.

"Bucky, huh," Nat said.

 _Oops._ "Yeah," Steve rubbed his neck. "Yeah."

"Hm," Nat said, the waited a beat. "I’m glad."

"Thank you," Steve said, and he knew Nat heard the smile in his voice.

 

Bucky texted Steve an photo of a menu from an Indian restaurant, saying _I can be @yours in 40?_ , and effectively initiating their first real date.

That was good. That meant Steve had only a minimal amount of time to freak out about how he looked, and how his suite looked, and then he was on the bike to rush to the Tower right after he shot back a text of his choice of dinner.

He was barely done throwing dirty socks into the laundry basket and emptying his clean washing machine when a knock on the door signaled Bucky’s arrival.

"Hey," Steve said, and as soon as Bucky was inside he kissed him fiercely. "You smell nice."

"That’s the food," James lifted the bag of takeaway. Tonight he was back with the leather and loose hair again, and Steve had to restrain from running his hand through the stray strands.

"You drove?"

"Yeah. My bike isn’t as fancy as yours, though."

"Riding isn’t about being fancy," Steve countered.

"Isn’t it," Bucky drawled, and slowly ran his eyes up and down Steve’s body in a very dirty and incredibly arousing way.

"I mean–" Steve stuttered.

"What is riding about?" Bucky asked, still in full lewd mode.

Steve swallowed, then straightened. "I can show you if you want," he said, and good thing he wasn’t holding anything other than some napkins, because Bucky’s lips were suddenly on his, and his hands were full of strong forearms, and the napkins landed on the floor.

So much for going easy on each other.

Two minutes later they came back for air, and Steve was breathing heavier than during his morning run.

Bucky grinned at him, hand still cupping his face, then his expression transformed into something small. "Eating on the couch okay?"

"Of course," Steve said with a shrug, and Bucky stroked his cheek with a thumb.

They laid everything out on the coffee table, and Bucky explained which box contained what. He brought huge portions, thankfully – Steve had to eat a lot to manage his muscle mass and superhuman metabolism, and apparently, so did Bucky. And the food _was_ nice, even if it wasn't from that overly expensive kitchen that Tony tended to order from.

The movie began all right. It had actually been on Steve's list, along with over a hundred titles of books, movies, TV series, comics, pieces of art, musicals, historical events, and general pop cultural things that he simply had to see, _man, I can't believe you don't get that reference!_ The list grew with each person he met and each second he spent in this millennium, and he had given up around his second year in the future on actually finishing it like, ever. He watched most traditional cartoons and bought a few books on the most important historical figures and happenings, and from then on he operated on a need-to-know basis: if something came up often and he felt left out for not knowing enough, he googled the thing, and decided if he wanted to spend time on it.

The cartoon, _Wall-E_ , that Bucky chose featured a lot of things that Steve was not very interested in: robots, the future – even from a 21st century point of view – and loneliness midst the destruction. The animation, however, was very impressive, and Steve would've forgotten everything about his own world easily to enjoy the story, had he not been sitting just inches away from Bucky on the couch.

He wanted to lean closer, to evaporate the distance between them, but he didn't know how well would that go. Hated though he was to admit it, he had embarrassingly little practice about actually dating someone: with Peggy, they had sex, yes, but there was also a war going on, preventing lazy cuddling or dating activities. And with others... the sex didn't happen before the dating.

Bucky sort of cocooned himself to the end of the couch, and while his pose wasn't screaming "keep away", it also wasn't very inviting. Steve still got a bit of a whiplash from how quickly Bucky changed between angles: one second he was the self he projected for the world, the next he was shy and borderline insecure, then he morphed into something else...

Steve's only consolation was that he himself probably did the exact same thing.

They were both walking on unsteady ground around each other, unless, of course, when they were all _over_ each other.

Midway through he realized that Bucky shared none of his inner turmoil. Or at the very least his inner turmoil was a result of the movie, and not Steve, because first he leaned forward when the white robot went into standby mode, and forgot to breathe, too; then, when the grey robot lost its earlier quirky personality, he wedged himself between the cushions, and pulled his legs up in front of himself, too.

Steve gave up on his self-restraint – a sentiment he was becoming more and more familiar with around Bucky – and gently took Bucky's hand. Bucky jerked at the contact, then relaxed when Steve scooted so that Bucky could lean on him. He gripped Steve's hand very tight when the robot finally remembered who it had been, too.

“You all right?” Steve asked him when the credits rolled.

“Sure,” but Bucky didn't sit up and didn't let go of Steve's hand. “I was just not expecting the identity issues.”

Well. It must've been hard for Bucky, being Russian and yet working for Americans, Steve supposed.

“It was touching, how the other robot helped it remember,” Steve agreed.

“Yeah. You liked it?”

“Yep. It's amazing how much they can achieve without even talking. They were so expressive – and the message is nice, what with pollution being a huge problem nowadays.”

Bucky looked up at him. “I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would.”

“Why?”

“Well, it kinda has an environmentalist propaganda, or so I've heard.”

“And a few existential crises,” Steve countered, and Bucky frowned.

“That too, apparently.”

“Wait, was this a test?”

Bucky straightened up. “Why would I do that?” he asked innocently.

“Because you apparently like testing me?”

At that, Bucky grinned. “I can think of one test I'd looove to try,” and before Steve knew what was happening, Bucky climbed into his lap and rolled his hips.

“What test,” Steve moaned, which Bucky returned when Steve's hands began gripping his hair.

“I want to know if the walls are soundproof enough for a superhuman,” Bucky whispered. “Because I want to suck you off so hard you scream.”

Blood rushed to Steve's dick so fast he became dizzy.

“I think I can come completely silent,” he groaned, and Bucky's eyes sparkled slyly as he slid down to kneel before Steve.

“I know you can,” he said as he unzipped Steve's jeans. “But why would you?”

And as perfect lips wrapped around him, Steve saw no reason not to.

 

Dating Bucky had an absolutely unforeseen advantage, namely, the missions. There was hardly anything better than working together with the Winter Soldier: he was like Clint and Nat rolled into one with a dash of Tony, and that shouldn't have complimented Steve the way it did – it shouldn't have even worked – and yet they made a team that even the ragtags couldn't complain about. 

>   _Natasha Romanoff’s weight gain story: is she pregnant or on a secret mission?_
> 
> _Winter Soldier: still a murderer? - Insiders claim he took out a Stark employee as a result of a false poisoning attempt_
> 
> _Is Captain America mad at the Winter Soldier? Click here for exclusive photos!_  

...well, instead they invented other scandals out of thin air, as always.

But no matter how much they wanted to pitch Cap against Winter, nothing beat their on location efficiency. They defeated Modok, the Enchantress and Hood in two week's span without a hitch, and for Hood and his men Fury didn't even assemble the Avengers, only Cap and Winter. Bucky provided backup from rooftops, but then eagerly jumped down to stab and explode everything that needed stabbing and exploding. He gave Steve a better backup than he could've ever dreamed about – he got accustomed to Steve's style easily, correctly anticipated Steve's movements and helped throughout.

And also, he wasn't a praised sniper for no reason. From afar he analyzed the scene and then offered tactics that were just as efficient and valuable than Steve's own.

“Lead him into that tunnel!” Bucky panted into his com.

“Are you going to blast it?”

“Yes. There's a side door about six hundred feet in, to the left, you can leave through there.”

“What about civilians?' Steve asked, already sprinting into the oncoming darkness of the tunnel.

“Place was evacuated during the perimeter setup,” Bucky grunted, then stopped to speak properly. “And I know where to place the ammo to make the entrance fall down but preserve the overall structural integrity.”

“Then why do I gotta leave?” Steve challenged.

“Because it would be stupid to lock you in with them?” Bucky asked back.

Which was a good point, especially since Steve had no backup other than Bucky, so he followed the advice and got out of the tunnel.

Even Fury had nothing to berate them for during the debrief later on, which was a nice, added bonus.

Steve had always liked fighting bad people — he would’ve liked it better if the world became a peaceful place where justice didn’t need to be served by fists, but so long as criminals were around, he didn’t mind fighting them. When he came out of the ice that was about the only thing that felt right, and he threw himself back into it as if nothing had happened. And when Bucky was around, beside him, Steve felt like he could go on forever. He was truly the missing piece from the Avengers, and most likely from Steve’s side too. Being with him was something that Steve could get addicted to, quickly and dangerously, but since the world repeatedly needed to be saved, he saw no reason to object.

 

As a result, most of the still warm September days and moderately cool nights were spent with the two of them fighting crime, joining the Avengers on movie nights, and going out on “undercover dates.”

Steve hadn't been kidding when he said he knew places they could go without someone recognizing them. Or more precisely, places where nobody would care about them and they wouldn't be outed; places Steve himself preferred, when he wanted to disappear from his fame and from the world. Coffee shops and restaurants that were owned by the descendants of his WWII war comrades, or by people whom he had helped before. They knew who Steve was, but instead of telling the press about which blend of coffee he drank or the amount of whipped cream he preferred, they went out of their way to mask the fact that a celebrity was visiting their shop when he got fed up with his own face in front of a Starbucks logo trending on Instagram.

Steve had brought Sam to these places too, when they tried... dating, if a grand total of one date can be considered that. And Steve recommended that Nat and Sharon go there, too, to avoid being hounded by the press. So at least what the owners lost by the lack of celebrity endorsement, they gained by the silent support of the Avengers. All Steve had to do was wear sunglasses and a baseball hat, something that Bucky mocked him relentlessly for, but at least no pictures of the two of them were featured in the tabloids. And he couldn’t wait for the weather to turn colder and allow an even better disguise with hoodies and scarves.

But he settled for a Henley and a jacket when he went to a bar in a busy part of Brooklyn — and his heart stopped for a moment when he spotted Bucky, then began beating twice as fast.

Bucky was… _wow_.

Instead of the bad boy, leather jacket, piercings attire he was publicly known for, he went the opposite direction. He was dressed in a large, burnt orange sweatshirt, the neck reaching up to his mouth, and his hair was tied in a loose bun, the front strands falling into his face. He was chatting with the bartender — but of course he knew how to play people, how to show what they wanted to see, _no need to be upset about that, Rogers._

Maybe Bucky was showing Steve what he wanted to see, too, but then he must’ve been more than even a telepath, because Steve himself had no idea that the sight of an overly soft and cuddly sniper in torn jeans was what would make his knees wobble.

He pocketed his hands before he could succumb to the urge and push him against a wall and kiss him senseless, and made his way through the crowd. Bucky spotted him soon and smiled at him, and something loosened in Steve.

“What’d you like?” Bucky asked. Steve noted that his beer bottle was empty, and also that his slight Russian intonation was back, now that they were out.

Steve played with the idea of an Old Fashioned, but decided against the citrus.

“Whisky,” he said, half to Bucky, half to the bartender, a guy named Clark that nodded at him knowingly. “The strongest you have. You?”

“Godiva,” Bucky said, and with their drinks in hand they relocated to a quiet table at the back.

“What’s Godiva?” he asked.

“Chocolate liquor. I wanted something sweet.”

“You are” Steve agreed dumbly, because apparently his brain decided to stop working and embarrass him terribly. Bucky looked shocked, then amused.

“Thanks,” he said and took a sip from his drink. Steve followed suit, mute for the moment, but he paid way too much attention to Bucky’s glowing blue eyes, and not enough to his fine motor skills, and he ended up inhaling some of the Whisky.

By the time he was done coughing, Bucky had a very knowing look on his face.

“Am I that distracting?” he asked casually.

“No, I—“ Steve realized he had no right answer. Was there even a right answer to that?

“Don't worry, I take that as a compliment,” Bucky said.

“I was always clumsy,” Steve admitted, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “But it always got worse when someone was around that I... liked.”

“Yeah?” Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Not many have noticed me, though.”

“That’s their loss,” Bucky said without missing a beat.

Steve could've sworn that he sounded... thankful. He couldn't let that go. “Am I that good of a lay?” he grinned cheekily.

Bucky almost choked on his next sip of the liquor. Payback was a bitch, after all, Steve noted with satisfaction.

“You aren't bad,” Bucky settled on saying, face still red as a beet, which clashed spectacularly with his hoodie.

Steve's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “Not bad? Seriously?”

“I mean,” and the faux-shyness was back. “I didn't have too much time to test it.”

Suddenly Steve regretted bringing Bucky here, to this table in a dark bar that seemed private a moment ago, but was in fact very public, and definitely a place where Steve couldn't kiss the bashful expression off of Bucky even though he wanted nothing more.

“Well, when it comes to that,” Steve said. “You didn't make me scream loud enough to wake up the whole Tower either.”

The bashfulness turned into absolute, honest outrage. “I didn't know exhibitionism was your thing.”

“It really isn't,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying.”

“Shame,” Bucky said.

“Why?”

“Well, who knows, maybe this place has a stall big enough for two adult guys.”

Steve knew that the toilet could, theoretically, fit two – and his mind flooded with possible images of him and Bucky against the door, straining the weak walls, struggling to keep quiet – and he knew he wouldn't be able to act casual, afterwards; he was the undeniable worst when it came to sex hair and dopey smiles... But he couldn't remember why that would be a bad thing. He looked at Bucky with fire in his belly, and he wanted Bucky, right here, right now, and Bucky clearly wanted him back, fuck everything. Fuck their worries about their image and their reputation and fuck whatever people thought anyway–

But when Steve leaned forward to grab Bucky's hand, Bucky leaned back and pulled it back, out of reach.

“I was kidding, I'm not risking public sex,” Bucky hissed, but Steve saw that he was more impressed than surprised. Hopefully. Still, shame filled Steve and burned his throat like acid, now that he wasn't thinking with his dick anymore.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, I'm– flattered,” Bucky said, drinking up the last of his drink. “And I do want to climb you. Just not here.”

“The feeling's mutual,” Steve assured him.

“Good,” Bucky stood up with a finality. Steve noted that his glass was empty and thought that Bucky wanted a refill; instead, Bucky kept staring at him meaningfully. Problem was, Steve couldn't decipher what, exactly, that meaning was.

“What?”

Bucky rolled his eyes in a way that reminded Steve disturbingly of Tony. “Are you coming or do you want me to take care of this myself?” he gestured at his crotch, and Steve almost flipped the whole table in his haste to get out of the bar.

 

The moment the elevator doors closed behind them in the Tower they were on each other. To be precise: _Bucky_ was on _Steve_. Steve, himself, would've been decent and proper and would've waited the few extra minutes to his room, no matter how much it cost him, but Bucky clearly had other ideas, and it took Steve three very long and deep kisses to get his wits back and say,

“I thought you didn't like public.”

If it came out a little breathless, then, well, it really wasn’t his fault.

“JARVIS can hold the doors for us,” Bucky mumbled, “Right, Jay?”

“It wouldn't be a problem,” said the posh voice, and Steve mentally applauded Bucky – it took him years to get used to the disembodied housekeeper, not just a few weeks, but then this train of thought fell apart when Bucky lifted his hoodie and his shirt, too, revealing some very tempting skin on his abdomen.

Steve ran his hand on the firm muscles, and only stopped to help Bucky with the hoodie that got stuck on his hand. Bucky's hair completely fell apart and his cheeks were red by the time they untangled the mess, laughing like the fools they were, and Steve didn't hesitate to kiss him fully, pushing him to the elevator wall. Bucky had these amazingly cute dimples when he smiled in a certain way, which he did now, and Steve, in order to prevent himself gazing dumbly at such a beautiful face, made his way down with a trail of kisses. Collarbone, a nipple, the navel, the soft pattern of hair that led to the trousers– Steve praised it all.

He wanted Bucky in him, again, one way or another, so he sank to his knees and ran his hands along those wonderful thighs.

Bucky stared down at him, hair a mess, sweat on his skin, his fingers gently caressing the spikes at the back of Steve's head.

“I was kidding earlier,” Bucky whispered. “You are great at this.”

Steve grinned, then thought better than unbuttoning Bucky's trousers straight away – instead he mouthed at Bucky's dick through the fabric.

The denim tasted foul, but the spasm that ran through Bucky was rewarding enough, and Steve involuntarily widened his own legs. God, he wanted Bucky _in him_.

“You don't have to prove anything,” Bucky croaked.

“I know,” Steve said. “But maybe I want to.”

He fumbled with Bucky's belt. Bucky let his head thump back on the wall.

“Captain America is ripping my pants off in an elevator,” he said dreamily.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said meaningfully, “wants a dick in him. _Now._ ”

“You shoulda said so,” Bucky said, and opened the damned belt, fucking _finally_.

And as their bad luck would have it, that was the exact moment JARVIS began to say, “Captain, I'm sorry but you should—” and the elevator doors opened.

“ARGH! Jesus Christ, my eyes, I will never be able to unsee this!”

Steve closed his eyes, maybe in a subconscious, child-like effort to make Tony disappear.

“We told JARVIS not to open the doors!” Bucky said, more defensively than accusingly, and right, he had no shirt on. Steve scrambled to his feet and positioned himself in front of him, even though that literally meant facing Tony.

“Yes, and I wanted to use my elevator in _my own Tower_ so I overrode the codes!” Tony was rubbing the bridge of his nose and doing his best to avoid looking at either Steve or Bucky. “And now I won't ever be able to, without thinking about what I had just seen here!”

“You hadn't seen anything,” Bucky said, and he rested his chin on Steve's shoulders to be able to look at Tony. “You interrupted before the best part.”

From their one point of contact Steve could tell that Bucky was buckling his belt.

“I didn't need to know that,” Tony grumbled.

“Don't act like a fair maiden, it doesn't suit you,” Bucky said, which lessened Steve's embarrassment somewhat – come to think about it, Tony must have seen way more than two guys with their pants still very regrettably on.

“Yeah, but that's me and not America's sweetheart on his knees,” Tony whined.

Bucky pulled back from Steve.

“Well, we meant to tell the team anyway,” Steve said. “Bucky and I are dating. But we'd appreciate if we could carry on telling the _rest_ of them ourselves, you know.”

He maybe had a vaguely threatening tone of voice, because Tony looked right at him.

“Hey, I'm not judging or spilling. I was just caught off-guard – and you know, maybe a little jealous.”

“Of _whom_?”

To that, Steve got a very disapproving tilt of the head. “Of the _elevator_. Pepper never lets me play outside the bedroom.”

“...please don't tell her that we tried to, either,” Bucky said softly, and Steve glanced at him to see that he was putting his shirt back on.

Tony considered them for a long moment, uncharacteristically quiet. “Nah, don't worry about it – go have fun, kids. _In_ your rooms.”

Bucky smiled gratefully and sidestepped Tony, and Steve followed suit.

 

Superheroes generally fell under SHIELD's jurisdiction. The organization took care of the bureaucratic aspects of getting rid of bad guys: the criminal charges, the insurance issues of public and private properties, and the intelligence – to prevent future attacks, or at least, to be more ready when they happened. SHIELD was also good at managing the superheroes and setting them up in teams: not every wannabe bank robber warranted the assembly of all the Avengers, and SHIELD was good at determining who to call when another masked player appeared on the field, intent on destroying the Statue of Liberty.

But the superheroes themselves had to up and at whatever SHIELD pointed them at, _whenever_ it happened – which was why Bucky’s phone started buzzing at crack of dawn. They both woke up to the soft noise: years of being a soldier never went away. Then Bucky groaned when he read the text.

“They want me in Australia,” he pushed hair out of his face.

“Australia?”

“Yeah, they need a sniper to back Clint on a mission.”

Steve fell back to the pillows. “Fuck.”

“We did,” Bucky said casually, feet already on the floor. Steve swatted him. Bucky turned back to Steve. “You will have to wake in an empty bed,” he said softly. Regretfully.

“Just be careful and get back safe,” Steve pulled him down for a kiss.

Bucky nodded, then went to dress, all the earlier relaxedness gone from his features. Whatever had SHIELD's panties in a twist at this time of the day must have been important, after all, Steve knew on an intellectual level. On an emotional one, however, he hated seeing Bucky’s shadow leaving the room and hearing his footsteps as he got further and further from Steve. Steve turned to his other side angrily, and willed himself back to sleep.

 

He busied himself by agreeing to help boost the image of the Avengers and SHIELD's efforts by participating in some children's show. At least it was more bearable than the horrendous videos aimed at high-schoolers he foolishly accepted after he was thawed out, but he still had to wear a comically ridiculous version of his outfit – louder colors, less practical design – than his normal uniform. And it was a much better alternative to Ardell’s proposal from the Gala, which Steve had only to read one third of to decide that he didn’t want to be the new face of a clothing line that was overpriced, didn’t cater to different body types or skin colors, and the inspirational speeches Steve was promised in return couldn’t contain anything political, religious or sexuality-related topics.

He still had to leave Steve Rogers at the door to answer the questions of young and carefully selected children, though.

_“Captain America, do you like ponies?” – Of course he did, he loved every animal equally. Yes, even wasps and spiders. Every animal was worthy of love._

_“Captain America, what is your favorite color?” – Blue, but he didn't mind red and white either, of course._

_“Captain America, can you count to infinity?” – Well, nobody could, could they? But maths is very important and they should all listen to their teachers and learn important things._

He even liked children, at least under carefully controlled situations where he wasn't ambushed out of nowhere. What he didn't like was the coverage the show got on overly Republican channels, however. He was _not_ promoting traditional values – not when it was synonymous with misogynistic worldviews, anyway – nor was he going to Church every Sunday. Where on Earth did they got that from?

He only got the running lines on the bottom of the morning news to decide he had seen enough, then promptly turned the TV off.

Instead of his normal routine of taking his frustration out on a punching bag or a running partner, he channeled his energy into aggressively cleaning his suite in the Tower. Maybe with the underlying hopes of spending more time there with Bucky – not that Steve was a slob, but some deep scrubbing could be useful for any carpet. And he didn't want to feel ashamed, should Bucky glance under the couch or behind a shelf by some remote chance, and find excessive amounts of dust kittens.

He was changing the sheets on the bed and remembering fond memories including his mouth on Bucky's dick, and the sweet, sweet noises Bucky made, and the knowledge that Steve could be the source of such intense feelings, when it occurred to him how shocked would the people over at Fox News be to have seen Steve with Bucky.

Not that Steve was into voyeurism. But still, even the knowledge that Captain America literally went to his knees for a man... let alone the notorious Winter Soldier...

All Steve would need to do was to post a photo of him holding Bucky's metal hand and the internet would go _nuts_.

Nobody would ever mention the innocent, traditional, boring Cap anymore. Hell, compared to that, Tony Stark would be considered tame, probably.

Steve came back to himself from his fantasy and had to sit down because he was being _ridiculous_. Bucky would throw him out immediately if Steve betrayed him like this, and more importantly, Steve could never forgive himself — he would never do that. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking that he could use Bucky to escape from his public image?

 

“Separation anxiety, already?” Nat asked later, after she beat his ass in the gym, clearly seeing the connection between Bucky’s absence and how weird Steve was acting.

“I’m just an idiot,” Steve said, massaging his shoulder that Nat nearly dislocated. “He’s been gone for only three days.”

“But you’ve been together for two straight weeks.”

“There was nothing straight about that,” Steve said, then he reddened fiercely. _The hell—_

Nat’s eyes widened in surprise too. “Wow, Rogers. Who knew.” And she grinned. “I like it. By the way, come over to movie night. You need to see other people.”

Steve nodded, still not trusting his mouth to say anything smart after that.

“You could even tell them about you two,” she went on.

“Will do,” Steve agreed. “I just…” Wanted to treasure it for a while. Like the dog tags under his clothes that nobody saw, yet whose presence he could always feel.

“I get it,” she smiled at him softly, and then challenged him to another round of sparring.

 

Steve found even sketching hard, mostly because he was constantly trying to recreate deep blue eyes with a black pencil, in Bucky’s absence. He went out with Wanda and Pietro for hot dogs, though; fully cleaned both his suite and his apartment in Brooklyn; and annoyed Sam via texts since he was back at DC. He even rewatched _Wall-E_ like the sad, pathetic idiot he was before deciding that he was behaving even stupider than normal. From then on he didn’t check his phone every few seconds to see if Bucky was able to write to him; instead he buried himself in a book about Rosa Parks.

On some level he was thankful he never experienced the fifties. He probably wouldn’t have survived it, even in a supersoldier body — his inclination for activism would’ve gotten him shot in the head, there was no doubt about that.

The book, and keeping his head clean, helped. If he kept letting Bucky’s absence affect him like this, then Sam’s worries were indeed founded, and… and then what? He wasn’t gonna date, just like before?

He really should just stop overthinking things.

A mission rolled around a few days later, and Steve at least had some ease of mind because his head was in the game, and he and Tony apprehended Namor without much fanfare. After that, he used his incognito Twitter account to rebut some articles and posts targeting the Avengers, specifically, Bucky. He didn’t seem to have online presence other than the official account SHIELD set him up with, the one managed for everyone by their PR teams, and even if Steve couldn’t speak out as Cap, he couldn’t just ignore the unjust accusations thrown around either.

Then his phone chirped, about a week after Bucky had left.

_.Mission finally over_

A smile unconsciously spread on Steve's face as his absolutely ungodly state of mind let up.

_Everything OK? Can't wait to see you_

_?thumbs up emoji: @home. can be @tower in 20:_

Well, Bucky definitely had a place outside of the Avengers Tower. But Steve wasn’t at the Tower either, and he didn’t want to waste time getting there — and more than that, he wanted to experiment a little. Test the waters, his own as much as Bucky’s, if possible.

Well, no time but today.

_Or you could come straight to my place in Brooklyn?_

A suspiciously long pause followed, during which Steve threw the phone from one hand to the other, only to freak out and almost drop it when the damned thing buzzed loudly.

_?Would love that. Send me the address_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can pry "OTP watches cartoon on the couch" out of my cold, dead hands.


	7. you must like me for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Delicate_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'd go with the acoustic version (preferably from the Chicago fan event) for this chapter :)

_sometimes when i look into your eyes_

_i pretend you’re mine_

_all the damn time_

 

Bucky's hair was still soft from his clean-up, Steve noted when Bucky arrived. He was dressed in black, though not combat-black, but the inviting kind including an oversized and well-worn sweater and jeans, and he had a Tupperware container full of what looked like chocolate muffins. Steve felt very overdressed in slacks and a flannel shirt, and wasn't helped by Bucky's opening line once the door closed behind them.

“Fancy neighborhood. Here, I brought muffins,” he said, and that gave Steve the excuse not to stare dumbly anymore.

Bucky looked around the apartment appreciatively while Steve loaded the muffins onto a big plate.

“And fancy apartment,” Bucky commented.

“Yeah, it's nice,” Steve said. “You want something to drink?”

“Coffee?” Bucky asked back, and leaned to the kitchen doorway to watch Steve.

“Sure.” He didn't really drink coffee for anything other than out habit, himself, given that caffeine had zero effect on supersoldier metabolism. “I have traditional,” he lifted the stovetop coffee maker, “or modern,” and with his other hand he tapped the Nespresso machine — an underused gift from Tony.

“The traditional's fine,” Bucky grinned.

“What, surprised I can use the modern one?” Steve grinned back as he set to work.

“I'm more surprised that a place like this even has a stovetop. Did you pick it up?”

Bucky was obviously referring to the apartment, and not just the coffee maker, and although Steve would've loved to play dumb to rouse him, an involuntary snort broke out of him.

“God no. SHIELD figured that since I grew up in Brooklyn, I would like it back there.”

"Do you?” Bucky's voice was small, but curious. Steve decided he loved when he got to talk to this Bucky.

“It grew on me eventually,” Steve said. “Took a while, though. I planned to, uh, sell this place, actually. But I didn't have any papers or a bank account, and by the time everything was in order, aliens had attacked New York. And after that, I just couldn't...”

“...part with the only familiar thing?” Bucky finished after Steve trailed off.

“Yeah, Steve admitted. He had quite forgotten those early days until Bucky brought it up. He hated these walls, the minimalist style, the noncommittal beige designs everywhere — but he made it his own, with time, as much as possible. Now he had sketches up, and cushions of his own choosing on the couches, and memorabilia from his trips and gifts from friends everywhere.

But Bucky got this, and could clearly relate. _That_ was nice. To know that someone not only saw Steve's loss behind the nice apartment, but _understood_ it, too.

“Is it at least where you used to live?”

“Not quite, but close,” Steve said. “I used to live in the poorest, queerest neighborhood, right under the Brooklyn Bridge.”

That part, at least, he didn't mind. He went back to his old block, and in reality SHIELD probably would've had nothing against DUMBO — the scene once full of drag bars and cruising gave way to student dorms and business centers. Then again, maybe SHIELD wouldn't have liked their beloved pet Cap to be so close to the docks.

But it still hurt so much to walk the streets that were now so different than in his time, and it hurt nowhere more than in his old neighborhood. If he was living in Brooklyn, at least he was living where he didn't trip over old memories every corner, and where he didn't expect to see something that was no longer there.

“Well, it’s only a few streets away and certainly isn't poor,” Bucky agreed, jostling Steve back to reality. “Seems queer enough for me, though.”

His eyes roamed up and down Steve's body.

“If you think this is queer,” Steve gestured at his boring cookie-cutter outfit, then his boring, cookie cutter apartment, “the actual local queer bars will blow you away.”

Bucky did a double take at that. “You go to gay bars?”

“Well... not very often, but sometimes, yeah.”

“Even I didn't dare to go to a gay bar since it was announced that the Winter Soldier came to the US,” Bucky said, and what Steve saw in his eyes was close to the same type of admiration Agent Coulson and most of his fans had in store. But it was _because_ Steve went to gay places.

And it came from _the Winter Soldier_ , who admired Steve for his bravery, apparently.

Steve tried so, so hard not to blush, and failed spectacularly.

“Folks are nice around here,” Steve said. “They consider outing worse than anything else.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “I’d like to go again as well.”

Steve hid his face by turning and checking on the coffee, although the noise was enough to let him know that it was nearly done. He would’ve loved to go out with Bucky if he didn’t have that stupid urge to use Bucky as a getaway car from his reputation — and he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ , but he wanted to give himself some time, just to be extra safe.

“Sure,” he said cheerfully. “Coffee's ready!”

While Bucky was pouring way too much coffee into his mug, Steve felt the need to cheat and try a muffin — and Bucky's eyes snapped to his thanks to the moan that broke out of Steve.

“Oh my God, this is amazing,” he breathed, and he swallowed the rest in one go. Bucky followed his every movement. “You have to tell me where you got these.”

“Maybe I'll show you one day,” Bucky said, and he abandoned his mug as well to wipe a piece of chocolate from Steve's chin. And unlike the last time, Steve didn't resist the urge to take Bucky's hand and lick the chocolate from the metal finger.

Bucky's pupils were blown wide and a shiver ran through him.

“You'd better,” Steve said.

“Me better what,” Bucky croaked.

“Show me where the muffins came from,” Steve smiled wickedly, and let go of him only to be crowded against the counter.

“I can show you where better things come from,” Bucky hissed, and Steve kissed him feverishly.

The coffee and the muffins were completely forgotten in favor of the huge bed in the middle of Steve's bedroom, and Steve had no idea how he could've missed Bucky so much when it was only a few days without hands running up and down his back and firm thighs against his own, yet here he was —  and he couldn't tell who lead and who pushed, but he soon found himself on his back with Bucky straddling him.

Steve arched into his touch and trembled into every kiss.

“You are so good to me,” Bucky whispered, and the kisses migrated from Steve's lips to his jaws, to his collarbone, to his nipple. His  pants uncomfortably strained on Steve, and he wanted to feel closer, to feel skin, but when he moved to help with the undressing, Bucky's hand — the metal one — shot out and held both of Steve's above his head.

“Nh-uh,” Bucky tsked. Then he took his sweet time, the bastard, and by the time they were both naked Steve was harder than ever. But to bring that out, Bucky was _gentler_ than ever: a contrast to the strong muscles and fierce show, his touches were light as a feather and all the more inciting for it. To know that Bucky could've been a match for Steve, could've been unabashedly rough, yet he chose not to be.

Except, right now, Steve wasn't in the mood for gentle.

“You can fuck me,” he said, _pleaded_ , really, when Bucky finally pushed his legs apart and settled between them.

“I will,” Bucky promised with a sly smile. “Wasn't that clear?”

Steve rolled his hips and the motion had Bucky gasping as well.

“I meant _now_ , jerk.”

“I won't fuck your raw,” Bucky said coolly. “Where's the lube.”

“What if I say I don't need it?” Steve challenged.

“Then I will tie you to the bed and leave you to your own devices until I rummage around here and find it,” Bucky replied.

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky was as unrelenting as the metal arm still holding him in place.

“Where do you think the lube is,” Steve nicked with his head to the bedside drawer. “In the top drawer.”

Bucky placed a soft kiss to Steve's lips before he reached out, found the lube, then uncapped it and squeezed a liberal amount — onto Steve's belly, since he was doing it all one-handed. Steve yelped as the cold gel splashed on his warm skin.

“I told you I don't need that,” he hissed.

Bucky began drawing patterns to his stomach with the gel. “And I told you I was not going to fuck you raw,” he said.

“I can take it.”

Bucky inclined his head to the side and fixed those incredible blues to Steve's. “Steve. If you have kinks... if you want pain-play, or blood-play, or whatever...” His face was completely emotionless, and Steve froze in his squirming. “We can discuss it when we're not both horny as fuck.”

“What I want,” Steve rasped, “is you, in me, _now_.”

“Wow, I think I could make you beg,” Bucky said. He tilted his head. “I could actually make you beg… if I had the patience,” he shook his head, and finally put a well-lubed finger to Steve's hole and slowly pushed in — and then he stopped dead and gaped.

“You... prepped yourself?”

Steve grinned up at him. “Didn't they tell you I'm a master tactician?”

Bucky slowly circled the finger, and Steve keened.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Poor Bucky still looked adorably flabbergasted. Steve just grinned some more.

“Was this a _test_?” Bucky whispered as he pulled his finger out, and horror widened his eyes as he very clearly thought Steve would test him to see if he would just fuck Steve without prep. Since Steve's hands were still held in place, he couldn't reach up, but he twisted until he could place a kiss onto the metal wrist.

“I knew I couldn't survive until you deemed me loose enough,” Steve said quietly. Bucky's skittish eyes settled on Steve's. “So now, would you please _get inside me._ ”

“And yet you say you aren't queer enough?” Bucky's voice rang close to hysterical, but he nonetheless surged forward and kissed Steve's laughter away with a bruising force. He then jerked himself back to full hardness, lined up and thrust in in one single go — and the one last coherent part of Steve's brain regretted not meeting at the Tower with it's soundproof walls, because his screams sure as hell were heard around the block.

  


The night sky had no traces of the first light of dawn when Steve woke up to the sudden change of Bucky’s breathing. His intakes became hitches more and more, faster, and then, just as Steve considered maybe waking him up, Bucky shot up with eyes wide open.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve said, also sitting up, but as he lay his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky jumped about a foot, and stared back at Steve with round, uncomprehending eyes with his back flushed to the wall.

“Sorry,” Steve said, unsure as to what to do — he had these experiences, too, moments where he didn’t know where he was, but he was almost always alone.

Understanding returned to Bucky slowly. He looked around, chest still heaving, then he wiped his sweaty forehead.

“Steve?” he asked tentatively.

“It’s me.”

“Shit.”

Steve didn’t take that personally, since Bucky seemed to be more angry at the situation itself.

“Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay. Bad dream?”

Bucky snorted. “Could say that. The mission probably didn’t help.”

“Wanna... I dunno, talk about it?”

Steve’s only consolation was that Bucky also didn’t know what to do with himself. He rubbed his right arm, looked everywhere as if someone would jump from the shadows and attack him. Worse: Bucky looked like he wouldn’t _fight_ , if someone did that.

“We had, um, to make a decision, and we picked the right one,” Bucky hoarsely said, “but it was still stressful, and… stress brings out the worst of everyone.”

God, did Steve get that.

“Wanna come back to bed?” he asked softly.

“No, I... can I just, take a walk? In the apartment? I won’t be falling back asleep anytime soon, but you go ahead and I’ll join you.”

“Sure, feel free to roam,” Steve said, and watched with sinking heart as Bucky left.

He fell back to the covers and rubbed his face.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep either, not with the knowledge that Bucky was out alone.

He gave himself a few moments within the still warm sheets, then got up, pulled a hoodie on — early October was too cold to be walking around in nothing but shorts in the middle of the night, even in his apartment — and went out.

Bucky was standing in the living room, staring at nothing. He couldn’t even have seen much; even Steve’s super-sensed eyes could only barely register the outline of furniture.

Bucky startled, and Steve silently cursed himself for forgetting to walk louder.

“I’m making coffee, you want some?”

“I... yeah. Thanks.”

It turned out that the coffee from last night was still in the stovetop, so Steve poured that into a pitcher and set out to make more. They would probably need it, since they started the day so early — and the smell of freshly brewed coffee could make everything better.

And indeed, when the sharp aroma of caffeine filled the air, and Steve went to offer a cup to Bucky, Bucky at least shot a week smile Steve’s way.

“Sugar? Milk?” Steve offered belatedly.

“It’s fine,” Bucky sighed, and practically inhaled the still steaming liquid.

Steve raided the fridge to make some breakfast, or at least, to see what options they had. He also rummaged through the shelves to come up with jams and peanut butter, not just bacon and eggs, and by then the first rays of sunshine were gracing the horizon. Steve wanted to ask Bucky about his preferences, but the tension seemed to have eased out of Bucky’s shoulders as he stood in front of the huge windows, his outline softened by the early dawn that he kept staring at.

Well, this was the real test, wasn’t it. To see how Steve would feel with Bucky between these walls, which, somehow, felt much more intimate than between his thighs. Would Bucky’s presence push things to the side, metaphorically speaking, to make room for himself, or would he fit like a missing piece of the puzzle?

So far he seemed to have shrunk himself as to not to disrupt the order of the world. So Steve encouraged him to browse until he made toast and omelet and fried the bacon, and between stirs he leaned against  the kitchen’s doorframe to spy on Bucky.

Not to inappropriately ogle that glorious ass, because Bucky wrapped himself in a light grey tartan that gave him a lumpy, shapeless outline. Instead of staring wistfully at the rising sun, he was now looking through the volumes on the shelves.

And Steve found — with two full plates on his hands — that his stomach didn’t ache in warning when Bucky ran his hands along the spines, and even the frames of a small drawing that portrayed a smiling woman.

“Is she your mom?” Bucky asked, then turned, and immediately helped with a plate.

“Sarah, yeah. Bravest woman I knew, what with her raising me alone.”

“Must’ve been, since you are no small troublemaker,” Bucky smiled back, and they sat down to have breakfast, legs entwined under the table.

 

The door next to Steve’s was the adjoined bathroom; across the two, he had a suitably furnished gym, which he showed Bucky when he led the tour that they hadn’t gotten to the previous day.

“Tony’s design?” Bucky asked, running his hand on the reinforced stall bars, then the similarly strengthened boxing bag.

“Yeah. I go through them like no tomorrow otherwise.”

“I know the feeling.”

“You are enhanced as well,” Steve noted, the closest he came to addressing Bucky’s strength and abilities.

“Yeah,” Bucky ran a hand through his messy hair. “This especially.” He lifted his left arm from the confines of the tartan he still had around him.

“I wonder if that’s stronger than regular muscle.”

Bucky looked at him like he was crazy. “Mine? Sure is.”

“Not yours,” Steve said.

“You want a hand to hand?” Bucky gaped.

“Not immediately after breakfast, but it would be nice — we should also train together anyway.”

“You want to go against _this?_ ” Bucky kept gaping. Steve expected him to ask if Steve was still dreaming, or something.

“Sure.”

“Do you even know what this arm is capable of?”

“Well, it restrained me, but I wasn’t really fighting,” Steve reasoned.

“That’s not what I— nevermind. Fine, sure, whatever.”

He still shot Steve these weird looks. Steve figured a change of subject was welcome, but he only had the studio left to show from the house, and he felt both of them were still too raw for that. So they just started to warm up slowly, Bucky in one of Steve’s sweatpants and a T-shirt, which, Steve decided after a pang of longing that was aimed at the wearer and not the clothes, was a good look on him. And the exercise made all those muscles flex especially nicely.

“You gonna stare all morning or what?” Bucky asked.

“I’m... would you let me draw you sometime?” Steve asked, midway reconsidering his knee-jerk response to deny everything.

“What?”

“As a model,” Steve explained.

Well. That Bucky knew about. Steve felt no need to share just how many pages Steve had already filled with him.

“...okay,” Bucky said, although he looked just as bewildered as when Steve suggested sparring.

“What?”

“I just, I don’t think I’m ever going to figure you out,” Bucky said.

And maybe he didn’t intend it so, but Steve took it as a compliment.

 

They went easy on each other at first — that being the first three minutes on the padded mats. They danced left and light, and punches were thrown less with the hope of hitting the other and more with the intent to figure them out.

Then, when Steve was just about to call Bucky out, he probably figured that showing Steve from up close and personal just what his arm could do was the best way to prove how stupid Steve was, because he charged, and it was _on_.

The most Steve could comprehensively say about his technique was that it was _brutal_. He wasn’t in it for the finesse, for the artistry, but for the aim to decapitate and survive — which told Steve a pretty bleak tale about his past.

But Steve had a huge advantage, one that very few people recognized, which would allow him to stand up to even Bucky’s indeed superhuman arm: he learned to fight from Peggy Carter. And Peggy was small, and, well, physically weaker than most of her sparring partners, excluding pre-serum Steve, and she had fought accordingly. Momentum instead of force, strategy instead of rage, sidestep, evade, go for the weak spot. The beauty of it was that even if the opponent knew what was happening, this method still usually worked.

Combined with Steve’s own relentlessness and power, he was a force to be reckoned with too.

Bucky definitely relied on his strength and the power of his punches, which would’ve made any non-enhanced individuals an easy target for Steve. However, in this case it only meant that while Steve had enough openings, Bucky had the speed and the strength to shake off what Steve threw at him.

Steve still did it, obviously, all the while working on an alternative solution.

Steve ducked, and Bucky’s abdomen was left open for a counter-attack.

Bucky was also fast in his retaliation, and even when Steve ducked and hit back,  he wasn’t too phased from one single punch. He came at Steve like a battering ram, unstoppable, and Steve was forced to back off and defend. He blocked, but when he attempted to punch, so did Bucky, and within ten minutes they were sweating as if they had been running a marathon.

Steve couldn’t even move the metal arm when it came at him, and he needed both hands to block it — the material felt familiar to him with how it behaved in combat, somehow. Instead of trying to fight against it, he kept backing until his pose forced Bucky to use his other arm, the flesh one, and then Steve grabbed that and used Bucky’s momentum to spin him forward. Bucky came at Steve with his other arm still, attempting to spin out of the movement, but Steve dropped and shot his leg out — not to kick Bucky, but to trip him.

Bucky stumbled, but turned and grabbed Steve’s shirt, and they toppled to the ground. Steve was crouching as soon as he could get his feet under him, and Bucky was halfway up already, and then he grinned.

The lines on his face spoke of concentration, not tension, anymore.

“I’d say we’re even,” he said.

Steve’s heavy exhale turned into laughter. “Shower?”

“God yes.”

 

Steve was a sexual being with physical needs, even if he used his own hand to satisfy those needs more than he searched for a partner to help him out. And sometimes, with Bucky, sex was about that: sure they liked each other, but they also just needed somebody to get off with.

But other times it felt way more than that.

They could barely keep their hands to themselves as they got into the shower, and Bucky slipped on the wet tile and Steve steadied him, and they both laughed. Then the shower door was closed behind them, and the steam clouded the glass, obscuring them from the world even more.

Bucky’s hands roamed Steve’s body, made him shiver, made him eminently hard. Steve pressed his body closer to him, chest to chest, and he felt Bucky’s breaths on his neck, his heartbeat on his skin.

“Lucky I have a big shower,” Steve snorted.

“That ain’t the only big thing you have,” Bucky murmured back with appreciation, and Steve blushed firmly as gentle fingers wrapped around his cock.

He adjusted the water until it wasn’t beating down on them heavily, just kept them warm — then had to grab the handle when Bucky began playing with him.

Water pooled at their feat and steam curled around them, and Steve saw himself from the outside for a moment: a moment that felt significant, that he had this, now, with Bucky, this fragile moment of absolute bliss that seemed to last a lifetime.

His hands drifted on Bucky’s slippery body, along his strong muscles, down to his firm ass, back up to his shoulder where Steve caressed and massaged the scars. In response, Bucky squeezed the base of Steve’s cock, but not in a warning, more like an emphasis as his head fell forward and he rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve picked up a warm, sweet scented shower gel, poured some onto his palm, then used that to knead through Bucky’s upper body, especially his left shoulder. He aimed for firm, but not painful, even though Bucky had enhancements and could probably have taken more. But his breathing still hitched a few times, Steve heard over the pouring water, and when he dropped his hands to pull Bucky closer by his waist he looked up at him with wide eyes. But he didn’t say anything, just surged in to kiss Steve like never before, and Steve wrapped his arms around him until they were as close as possible.

Then Bucky took Steve’s cock into his hand again, and his own as well, and it didn’t take much thrusting until the friction pushed them over the edge, the water washing away their release quickly. Sex, or at least the actual dicks-and-coming action felt more like an afterthought than the center of their current activities, Steve noted, because he didn’t want to leave the shower, to leave Bucky, and that had nothing to do with wanting to get off again.

He kissed Bucky again, then turned him around, tipped his head back, and ran his hands through the long strands of hair. He used shampoo to untangle Bucky’s hair and massaged his head, too, and Bucky honest-to-God keened at that.

“Ah, baby, fuck…”

“We have,” Steve said cheekily, and kissed Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky snorted.

Steve rinsed the shampoo out, and Bucky turned around to face him. His cheeks were red and his skin shiny from the hot water, and he’s never looked more beautiful or more vulnerable, and Steve still didn’t want to break the spell.

“Your turn,” Bucky smiled, and then he soaped Steve up, nearly every inch, and Steve knew that he’d remember the soft movements more than any hickey he’d ever gotten: the reverence, the devotion in every touch was palpable. And when he was clean, Bucky pushed up to him from behind, his hands around Steve’s waist in a vice-strong grip, his nose right behind Steve’s ear, and Steve shivered, and Bucky exhaled loudly.

Steve laced his fingers through his, and breathed with him before turning his head just enough to be able to kiss him.

  


Tony insisted on a movie night to celebrate Bucky and Clint’s return from the mission, which gave a nice opportunity for Steve and Bucky’s ‘coming out’. They sipped coffee on the couch and discussed their options, and even joked about seeing how long it would take the team to figure it out — or for Tony to tattle. But in the end, of course, they decided to apply Occam’s razor to the problem.

Steve also regarded this as a test: if the Avengers as  a whole knew were together, then... well. Maybe Steve would be able to silence that little voice in his head that suggested uploading a kissing picture to Instagram would be a splendid thing to do.

“Ready?” Bucky asked him in the elevator of the Tower.

“Yes,” Steve replied, and when the elevator doors opened and everybody turned towards them, he grabbed Bucky to give him a fierce kiss.

All the noise died in the room, so Steve didn’t need to raise his voice when he said, “So we're dating now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks to the folks over at the Stucky discord, especially [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl), for the info about Brooklyn! 
> 
> Yes, this was another Delicate chapter - some songs will appear more than once! :)


	8. we break down a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _So It Goes_

_and all the pieces fall_

_right into place_

  


 

_Wanz to wartch something when iu get back?_

_Steve? Did someone steal your phone?_

_Can't typoe in globes, srry. Movie?_

_Take off your gloves! But sure._

_It's cold._

_Aww, poor baby. It's cold during a mission in Alaska, really?_

_F U. And yes, I don't like the cold._

There was a long pause before Bucky answered, and Steve regretted taking off his glove.

_I wish I was there to warm you up. But I don't like the cold either._

_I wish I was there with you._

That was the closest he came to admitting he missed Bucky. Although why that felt like a big deal, he couldn't have said — it's not like they weren't dating already. And spending a decent amount of their time together, at least when duty wasn't calling.

After an eternity-like pause, during which worry gnawed at Steve's insides that maybe, still, this was too fast too soon, or that Bucky thought he was an idiot, the dots appeared on the screen, soon followed by a message.

_What movie do you want to watch?_

_Anything that doesn't involve ice. Or snow._

_Take back your gloves before you lose a finger, Rogers. And no vetoeing Vinni Pukt? I'm shocked._

_I like your Russian cartoons_ , Steve sent back truthfully: even though Bucky was still testing him, cartoons were amazing for an artist, and all the more precious because Steve imagined a small Bucky singing along with Winnie the Pooh, or covering under a blanket when the hedgehog fell into the water in that other, scary one with the fog.

_I'll chose something warm._

Steve smiled when he imagined the crinkles around Bucky's eyes as he thought that — God, he really missed him.

 _The scenery is at least nice here_ , he wrote, looking out at the night sky with a thousand stars peppered on the horizon, and below a small, pseudo-military base with searchlights. Well. A cute gingerbread town would've been better, but hey. Christmas was a while away.

_Maybe you could paint it for me_

Steve blushed at the idea — sharing art, creating art with someone... not that what he painted was, like, _real_ art, but... still a part of him — an intimate part that Bucky _wanted to see._

“Oh my God, would you stop sexting, you're the worst millennial ever,” Nat grumbled at him, and Steve blushed harder.

_Yeah. Sorry, gotta go. See you._

Bucky didn't answer, but even the knowledge that the phone contained his words made Steve's heart a bit warmer, and he hoped that Bucky dreamt about him, too.

 

“Jesus, I was so worried,” was the first thing Bucky told him after two days of radio silence, when Steve showed up at his suite. Steve grunted and was promptly herded inside. “They said the mission was compromised but nothing beyond that.”

“Nat handled it,” Steve sighed, and wiped his eyes, forgetting about the layers of smoke covering his skin. “Can I use your shower?”

“Sure, but let's clean that nasty wound first,” Bucky tore the uniform apart at the seams on Steve's forearm, brought a first-aid kit to the kitchen table, and treated the wound expertly. “Anywhere else?”

“Nah, that was the worst,” Steve's voice sounded dull even to his ears. The smell of burning flesh was still in fresh on his tongue, and even though it had been the bad guys who burned, Steve wouldn't have wished that on his worst enemy. He wanted to scrub himself clean, bleach his mind, and climb under the blankets to pretend the world was a nice and happy place instead of _hell_.

“I'll take a shower,” he said and stood up, but Bucky held him back. He stepped in front of Steve, pushed some long strands of hair to the side, and cupped Steve's face, not minding the grime and blood.

“I'm glad you're back safe,” he whispered, and then wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him close.

Steve stood tense — he hadn't had time to wind down from the fight, and he was intensely aware of how he smelled and looked and felt, and yet, Bucky held him like something precious. Like Bucky had been actually worried for Steve's life.

He eventually relaxed enough to start taking deep breaths again; overriding the foul taste in his nose with the homely scent of Bucky, and Bucky just pulled him closer. So Steve reached up and hugged him back, and buried his face in Bucky's neck, and never wanted to let go.

 

More often than not, Bucky ended up in Steve's personal apartment. The Tower was also a great place to be, but not very... secluded, despite the high-tech security system; people kept dropping in on their movie nights from the ceiling (mostly Clint), interrupting their training exercises (Sam to criticize, Rhodey to improve), and generally walking into rooms that Steve believed to be locked just to chat about the weather (Bruce). The team was never  going to let their "coming out" down, especially Sam, but to be fair, they had similar reactions when Nat and Sharon announced they were dating, so Steve knew they meant well.

Bucky must have also had a separate loft somewhere, but he hadn't invited Steve over. _Yet_ , Steve hoped — he _itched_ to see what Bucky's apartment would look like. The one in the Tower was rather impersonal, only a few photos of Bucky with kids of color on the fridge and the occasional red or blue tribal decor. Then again, Steve himself didn't touch anything in his flat for nearly a year after moving in, so maybe they both just were uninterested in interior decorating.

But he opened the one remaining room of the apartment to Bucky: a room that lay adjacent at the end of the corridor from which the bathroom, the gym and the bedroom opened. This one was the largest, as originally it had been two separate rooms, but Steve decided he was never going to have enough guests to warrant a separate place for them, and opened the two together.

“Whoa,” Bucky breathed when Steve led him inside with apprehension — not many people have been to his studio.

The shelving system next to the wall stored all of Steve's paints and brushes and palettes and everything that he could ever need during a session, but also pencils and notebooks for doodling. His pictures were hanging haphazardly from the walls, without any rhyme or reason — they needed to go somewhere to dry if Steve felt like immediately starting a new one. He had blank canvases, too, stored next to the shelf and also on one of the three easels around the room, and even at the feet of the huge couch next to the main wall that had various rugs thrown over it.

"I've read that you like to paint, but this..." Bucky looked around with his mouth literally hanging open.

“As you can see I like spending time here,” Steve smiled.

Bucky walked around carefully, always checking for a stray brush or pencil to avoid, and he stopped in front of every painting and spent a few minutes... admiring it, really, and maybe committing it to memory.

Steve recognized the expression — he felt the same way in art history museums.

“You are so talented,” Bucky turned back to him. “You got some education?”

“I actually went to an art college before the war,” Steve nodded. “Of course we didn't have equipment like this,” he gestured at the shelf full of supplies, “and I never finished my degree.”

“Still, you must've been good enough to be admitted.”

“I have no idea how I got in,” Steve confessed. “I was colorblind.”

Bucky stared. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

Bucky just shook his head and went back to admiring a canvas full of flowers that had heads of the planets of the solar system.

“You could have an exhibition from these,” he murmured.

“Nah, people would only be interested because of Cap,” Steve said. “I had to ask the Smithsonian to please stop displaying my doodles, too."

Bucky smiled at him, fondly, and Steve wanted to wrap him in a blanket and never let go — but guilt gnawed at his insides. He sometimes still heard that nasty little voice in the back of his mind that encouraged posting a picture of him kissing Bucky to hell and back, which would be a shitty thing to do and a surefire way to lose Bucky, which was the last thing he wanted.

He had to do better, that was all.

 

The week preceding Halloween got everybody in the Tower up in arms. The living area of the Avengers looked like something big threw up a lot of hairy and orange things: fake jack o' lanterns decorated the counters and tables, motion-sensitive spiders laughed when someone walked past — until they were drenched by a pre-coffee Clint who jumped two feet and dropped his mug, stabbed down by a very annoyed Nat, and accidentally crushed by an enthusiastic Thor just back from Asgard. The last one was salvaged by Wanda who took the batteries out.

“Before Bruce gets a heart attack,” she said, and nobody argued.

But at least nobody had anything against the ghost- and various nightmare-creatures themed fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, mostly because those made no sudden sounds.

Bucky eyed the proceedings with a distrustful expression.

“Halloween can be a lot,” Steve explained. “Especially when Tony is responsible.”

“Tony? Responsible?” Nat chimed in, as if anybody would believe she wouldn't be the first in line to defend Tony.

“It's better than Christmas decorations in the stores in _September_ ,” Bucky said. Nat raised an eyebrow at him. “…from what I've heard.”

“Oh gosh, yes, and the music everywhere,” Steve laughed. “At least there's not much Halloween has to offer, musically.”

“Clearly you haven't been subjected to too many renditions of _This is Halloween_ ,” Sam muttered.

“What are you gonna dress up as?” Bucky asked Steve.

“I... dunno?” Steve rubbed his neck. “I'm not really the dressing up kind. I mean we wear costumes anyway, it's part of our job description and everything.”

“Good point,” Nat agreed.

“How about you?” Steve asked back.

“I haven't decided yet,” Bucky said, then changed the subject when Nat, too, refused to reveal her costume plans.

 

A tiny part of Steve's brain hoped day after day that Bucky would ask him to make a couple's outfit — not that they could've, without revealing their relationship, but... based on previous Halloweens, Pepper and Tony would come as a couple, and Nat and Clint always coordinated their outfits too, and Steve wanted to do normal, cutesy things that normal couples did at his age, no matter how silly or stupid they sounded.

But he was alone to decide on the outfit, except for Sam’s input, who wasn't too much of a help.

“You could steal your boy's leather and come as a fetish guy,” he said, throwing chips into his mouth. “You wouldn't have the problem of being invisible.”

“I hate you too,” Steve assured him, despite how hearing Sam address Bucky as “your boy” sent warmth through his heart.

“Or just wear your normal outfit and cosplay as a grandpa. You’re grumpy enough for it anyway.”

“Why am I friends with you again?” Steve asked.

“Because I'm amazing.”

Even so, Steve decided that following Sam's advice may not be such a horrible idea. He offered to call in a favor with a 5-star Michelin owner's restaurant for a reservation for two, in exchange from Nat for a make-up session on the afternoon of the party. He sat down in slacks and a flannel, but fresh-faced, and stood up from the chair with eyes sunk in, deep lines all over his face, shadows falling onto the hollows of his cheeks, and hair whitened.

“You are a riot,” she told him, but Steve just winked and left to also don a knitted vest and a walking stick.

 

The party was in full gear when Steve walked in, and as usual, Tony had gone all out with the decor and the catering: the dark room was lit up by UV lights so that plastic ghosts glowed everywhere, and the waiters had monster-themed outfits as well. It took some time for Steve’s eyes to adjust to the dim environment, and he spotted Thor first in a white… wedding dress? Steve headed that way, since he hadn’t seen him in a while.

Tony seemed to only invite SOs, fellow superheroes, trustworthy allies, and background staff from SHIELD, but the place was still packed with people, and Steve only got the end of Thor’s story.

“...and so my brother made this dress for me, and that's how I got Mjolnir back!” he exclaimed excitedly, waving his hand as if he had said hammer too.

“You dressed up as a goddess pretending to marry a giant to get your hammer back?” a girl in a baseball hat and sunglasses asked.

“Exactly!”

“Man, that is so cool,” she said without any accompanying facial expression, and Steve recognized Peter Parker nodding along enthusiastically — so much so that his green paper mache ears almost fell off of his head.

“Why did you chose this for Halloween?” somebody Steve didn’t recognize asked Thor.

“Well, I learned that Halloween means dressing up as something you like but cannot normally be, or dressing up to mock something, and I have no wish for the latter.”

Steve wondered who he himself was supposed to be mocking — how the world saw him, maybe? — when Peter spotted him.

“Captain Rogers! Wow! Your costume is…” he trailed off. “Special!”

“I'm supposed to be old, Pete,” Steve said, taking mercy on him.

“Steve!” Thor shook his hand enthusiastically, and Steve realized how much he missed the Asgardian. “Everything all right?”

But he barely had time to say the affirmative when someone else drew Thor away to ask about his costume, who launched into the story of dressing up as a bride to get his hammer back again.

“This is my friend MJ,” Peter gestured to the girl.

“Hi. Nice costume,” Steve said automatically before he realized that she was wearing normal clothes.

“You have no idea who I'm supposed to be, right?” she asked back.

“...no.”

“I’m a superhero in disguise!” she pulled her hoodie over the baseball cap.

Steve blinked at her for a few moments, then burst out laughing.

“And I’m more recognizable than Peter,” she added smugly.

“I'm Yoda! Why does nobody recognize Yoda these days anymore?”

“Because of how un-Yoda like it looks,” MJ told him. Peter pouted.

Their banter washed over Steve with the steady beat of Tony’s music, and his eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces. He spotted a Maria Hill dressed as Marilyn Monroe, and even the hosts, imitating Roger Rabbit and Jessica Rabbit, and his eyes glossed over a black spot twice before he registered Bucky.

“Hey,” he said, once he made his way there.

“Oh, hello, Steve,” Bucky smiled at him completely impassionately. “Nice to see you.”

Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Bucky even had his Russian accent back with full swing.

“You dressing how you feeling?” Clint asked in what was a very bad rendition of Robin Hood. “I. e. old?”

“Well, you dressed like a poor archer,” Steve fired back.

Clint gaped. “Am not!” He said indignantly. “I’m Peter Pan! Who did you think I was?”

“…Robin Hood?” Steve felt his face burning under the make-up. He glanced at Bucky, and for a moment he could’ve sworn he saw mirth in there, but then it was replaced by polite nonchalance. “And you are?”

“A bear,” Bucky pulled the hood over his head to show two small ears that were sewn to the top.

“Aw, that’s nice,” Steve smiled at him despite how a stone was growing in his stomach with how coldly Bucky behaved. “Hey, wanna grab something?”

Bucky blinked twice, then looked around them meaningfully. “Maybe later, thanks. I saw Nat over there, and I should say hello… bye.”

And he turned and was gone a moment later.

The only thing that saved Steve from a complete meltdown was Clint’s voice.

“So, Cap — have you heard the latest scandal?”

“What scandal,” Steve said emotionlessly.

“Well, there was this guy here, the plus one of someone Tony invited, and he just posted a video to YouTube about how Sam dressing as Santa is racist.” Clint looked pointedly at Steve, making sure his meaning was clear before he went on. “They confiscated his phone and escorted him out, of course, but it just shows that even Tony’s security can’t filter out all the bad eggs.”

_Oh._

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Yeah. That’s… horrible.” Here Steve was, feeling sorry for himself, and Bucky was only trying to protect him. “Thanks, Clint. I… I need to get a drink.”

“Don’t mention it.”

His hopes fell apart when Thor regretfully informed him that he didn’t bring the super-booze to the party, but reassured Steve with a back-mending pat on the back that he would send some soon. Which was maybe for the best: a sad and under the influence Steve would be bad for his friends and even worse for the press, should another guest record and post something online.

A commotion drew Steve’s attention away from his misery: near a life-sized wax figure of the Headless Horseman, a fairy in a green dress was arguing with… a bodybuilder, maybe? He couldn’t hear what was being said from the low hum of the music, and then the bodybuilder was storming off angrily and the people turned back to their business.

“Good riddance,” another fairy told Steve, and he blinked at Sharon.

“Who was that?”

“Rumlow, and Nat just gave him a dressing down I s’pose,” she shrugged, then added, when Steve looked at her questioningly, “for how shitty he was with Clint on their latest mission.”

“In Australia? I didn’t know he was there.”

“Backup crew. I don’t know the details either, only that Nat was pissed. Anyway, how’s the party going, old man?”

“At least someone gets the joke,” Steve said, trumping his inner jealousy about Sharon knowing more about Bucky’s mission than he did — there was no reason why Bucky would’ve needed to disclose the details, _get it together, Rogers._ “The party’s okay. You back on the field yet?”

Talking with Sharon reminded him of the Gala he first met Bucky, and his eyes immediately locked on the black bear chatting with Peter and MJ. Back then he wished he could have him; now it was worse, because he wasn’t allowed to _show_ that he had him.

He lifted his bottle of beer to his lips only to find it empty, and sighed.

“Nah, I’m still benched. I may be permanently compromised since all everybody’s writing about is my theoretical girlfriend/threesome/cheating habits,” Sharon said, she herself taking generous sips of a blue liquor.

“I’m sorry,” Steve offered. He had no idea things were so bad, still after over six months — _God_ , no wonder Bucky was extra careful.

“It’s fine. My girlfriend said,” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “that she hadn’t been sure I would be interested in women until I was outed, so I came out on top in the end.”

She smiled at Steve, and Steve’s smile was honest as he returned it.

 

He stayed just long enough to be polite, drinking whatever he could find, chatting with people warily, and generally keeping to the outskirts of the party, leaning on a wall. Sam came over a few times, but unlike Steve, he wasn’t a complete hermit but a rather sociable person, and well-liked to boot, and basically everybody wanted to talk to him and invite him for a drink. So Steve kept to himself and watched from the sidelines.

Interesting, that he had once thought he wasn’t taken seriously because of his looks.

Then again, he only really wanted one person’s attention, and the bear was currently talking to Tony’s rabbit.

Steve sighed, and decided that he could justify leaving now — it was almost midnight, after all. He put his glass down, said good-bye to Sam, who hummed some Christmas chimes at him just to be an ass, and his shoulders sagged when he got into the elevator.

The doors were almost closed when a hand shot out to trigger the sensors, and the doors slid open again. Steve looked up, surprised —

“Mind if I take a ride with you?”

— Bucky’s cheeks were red, probably from the rush to get there in time.

“Not at all,” Steve said.

Then the doors closed, this time fully, and then Bucky turned to him.

“Sorry about the party— that creep—”

“I know, Clint told me, it’s—”

And then Bucky was kissing him, not minding the make-up, and Steve forgot about everything else.

  
  


_Any plans tonight?_

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone beeped at him, and he promptly splashed the carefully mixed color of autumn leaves that he saw in Prospect Park the other day onto his shirt. He wiped his hands on his jeans before he checked the message, and then he instantly wanted to take Bucky to the park, too, but…

 _I can order from that Serbian place if you come over_ , he sent back instead.

He considered the canvas in front of him. He still had some issues with using colors he used to mix up due to his color blindness, and he wanted to practice reds and greens in particular, for which a scenic tour in the park seemed the best idea. But he wished he had gone for blue eyes instead, practice be damned.

_There’s this theater company having a show that I’d like to see. Join me?_

God, that was tempting. That was…

Steve wanted that with the force of the fiery Sun. Being out and about, doing everyday things, having fun with his partner. Except he couldn’t, not really. Neither of them were just ordinary people, no matter how much he wanted to hold Bucky’s hand, to kiss him, not to pretend that they were just hanging out. To be afraid of camera flashes all night.

_I’d rather stay in if that’s okay?_

Bucky didn’t answer for a long time, and when he did, his unusual briskness had Steve’s stomach in a knot.

_OK_

 

 

Bucky didn’t come over that night. Steve texted him the next day to invite him over and ask him about the show he saw, and got no response until well into the afternoon, when his phone went off.

_Can I come over?_

_Sure, I’m in Brooklyn._

_ETA 30min._

And indeed, half an hour later Bucky was there in all his tousled hair, leather jacket glory, and let Steve embrace him stiffly.

“How was the show?”

But Bucky just shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t even take his jacked off, even though he was wearing a grey sweater underneath.

“I… I can be honest with you, right?” he asked, and his eyes had that horrible jittery look to them, the one Steve hadn’t seen in a while.

“Of course, what’s wrong?”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Why don’t you want to go out with me?”

That sure wasn’t what Steve expected.

“What? But we said we’d keep it low—”

“Yeah, but we’ve been to bars and cafés and restaurants before Halloween. But you’ve shot me down five times since then.”

Had Steve?

He must have. He hadn’t realized…

Bucky saw the confusion on his face and his shoulders sagged. “You weren’t doing it on purpose.”

“No. I just… I don’t even know.” Which was a lie, if he ever said one. But he certainly wasn't doing it to get rid of him.

“I thought you wanted to let me down gently,” Bucky said. “I almost didn’t call at all, today. But I also thought you’re not like that, and I’m just overthinking stuff.”

Combined with the hopeless expression on Bucky’s face, Steve felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Or at least, the world's biggest asshole.

“No, I definitely don’t— I didn’t realize—” but he needed to do better,  and he started again. “I hated not being able to hold your hand at the Halloween party,” he admitted, ashamed. “Or to kiss you. Or just talk to you, normally.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Steve felt his face burn.

“And here I was, tossing and turning all night, thinking you’d had enough—”

“No!"

“—okay,” and Steve looked up to see Bucky’s smiling shyly. “That’s… actually cute.”

Steve rolled his eyes, still embarrassed. “Sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”

“Nah, this is… the best case scenario.”

“Did you come here expecting a break-up?” Now was Steve’s turn to look horrified.

“…kinda. But I hoped I knew you better than that.”

Steve reached out involuntarily, and Bucky snuggled up to him. “You do.”

“Good. And we can’t have this — I’ll take you somewhere we can be anonymous.”

And Steve would’ve agreed to anything that kept the devastatingly heartbroken expression off of Bucky’s face.

 

"I want to show you how to get lost in a crowd," Bucky announced. He stood behind Steve and angled his shoulders down. "It's not about what you wear, it's about how you wear it. You have to _act_ differently."

Steve and acting had never really gotten on well, _ever._ "I can't act," he said. "I can't even lie with words, I especially can't with my body."

Bucky locked eyes with him in the mirror. "It's not about lying. It's about letting Steve Rogers be visible — like when we're watching movies, or when you're drawing me. That side of you."

He put his arms around Steve who pressed against him willingly.

"I'm not sure I can do that," Steve said. "I've learned to be Cap and only Cap when I'm in public, and... you and Nat can do it, but I'm just..." he trailed off.

Bucky rested his chin on Steve's shoulder and contemplated something, then leaned back. "I have an idea, stay here."

While Bucky was gone, Steve tried to look in the mirror and see something other than his lame old self, but he really couldn't. There was no way in hell anybody would _not_ see Cap.

Then Bucky came back and threw a bunch of clothes onto the floor. Steve recognized the orange hoodie and a grey sweater Bucky liked a lot, but Bucky pulled a green sweater out first.

"Try it on," he told Steve.

Upon second glance, Steve had seen this one, too, but Bucky was broader in the shoulders and filled it out differently. On Steve it wasn't... oversized, per se, but it obscured his inhuman muscles. Made him look leaner, even smaller.

His heart beat faster at the knowledge that he was wearing _Bucky's_ sweater.

"You never wear green in public," Bucky said. "Always blue or black or grey or white. Time to spice things up. Get your tight black jeans, too."

Steve rummaged around until he found them in the black of the closet — they were not his favorite, mainly because he was used to slacks. But hey, so was the public.

This time, when Steve looked at himself, he saw something else. Different, definitely.

Maybe he disliked the jeans because he didn't feel like himself in them.

"Your hair is way too short to do anything with it," Bucky said. "But this is a good start."

"I don't know how I feel."

"Feel like you are just a normal guy, out on a date that will get you laid again."

"But I'm not, though. If something comes up—"

"Then SHIELD will make sure we get to the site of the emergency ASAP. Steve," Bucky turned Steve towards himself, "lots of people have fun while also having serious jobs — think of the first responders. _You_ are allowed to have fun, too."

It didn't feel like he was.

Which was a revelation that hit him over the head like a brick.

Maybe Sam had a point about how some of his issues needed addressing. He’d be thrilled that Bucky agreed with him on something, too.

But he squared his shoulders, then realized that that just made him look like he really had a stick up his ass.

"I don't know how to have fun," he said.

"You do," Bucky said. "You have fun when you're with Sam, or when we have sex, or when you're watching Disney's animated features. You should see your face," he traced Steve's chin with the tip of his finger. "And I think you should have fun in less secluded ways too. But if you don't want... I won't hold it against you if you don't want it."

Steve considered that.

"Can I keep the sweater afterwards?" he asked tentatively.

“…you wanna make it into a deal?”

“Why not?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Okay, fair enough."

Steve kissed him, then looked back at his reflection.

Disney classics were indeed his favorite, especially _Mulan_. He could easily identify with her, and he needed no therapist to tell him why.

Well, it was time to make the world see a version of Steve Rogers that had never been seen before.

"You’re right, we can’t be holed up here all the time. What are you going to wear? To... wherever we're going?"

A Cheshire cat smile spread on Bucky's lips.

"Come over to my suite and you'll see."

Even Steve could tell that his own outfit required boots, so he donned his only pair before following Bucky to his suite, where he was standing at the sink and exchanging his various earrings to small, matt black studs.

"If I take them out the holes will heal and I'll have to start again," he explained. "But I want something less trademark."

He let his hair fall down as it was, and coated his fingers in gel and ran them through the roots to make it look more messy and more voluminous. Then he set onto makeup.

Steve watched in fascination — he had seen the chorus girls do their make-up, yes, and then Peggy... but that didn't even compare to what the modern world offered in terms of glam. The artist in Steve was in awe.

And Bucky went _full glam_. He used eyeliner, yes; but went way beyond that. He smoked out his eyelids, which should have made it look like he had been punched by someone or couldn't sleep for a week, but instead it focused the attention on his eyes: brought out his incredible blues, made them _enhanced_.

Then came the rest of the face, with some brushes and fingertips, with many cremes and powders, and when Bucky turned to look directly at Steve, it wasn't Bucky that Steve saw.

It was a young guy, determined and unscratched. Someone who wasn’t hurt, like Bucky obviously had been; someone wild without the need to be predatory.

"Wow, Rogers," Bucky said. "Is everything I do a secret kink of yours?"

 _Only you_ , Steve's brain supplied, then he shook himself. "You don't look like you."

"I look like someone I could be," Bucky shrugged. Even that looked different. "Which is enough for people to miss me."

His clothing choices had the same effect: baggy, torn and pale jeans and an incredibly loose henley in white.

"I would wear only a tank-top, but the arm’s a bit of a giveaway," he said as he pulled a black glove onto his left hand. "And now I have to accessorize to make it natural."

His left side was completely covered, and the Henley was so oversized that it hung down his right shoulder and the arm pooled at his wrist. Steve found it hard to not ogle his revealed collarbone.

Then Bucky put on the bracelets: black pearls, silver chains, leather bands, and topped them all off with a number of prominent rings. His necklaces came in four different lengths, and the lowest fell to his abdomen.

The end result was a Bucky that, Steve felt, was created to seduce this alien version of Steve.

“One last thing,” Bucky said, and fished a forest green on beige scarf out of his wardrobe, then draped it loosely around Steve’s neck. The green was darker than the sweater, and the beige had a golden thread through the material, the overall impression so warm-toned like Steve had never worn in his life. Bucky positioned it so that the scarf came up to Steve’s chin, then even rolled the sleeves of the sweater up to the elbows.

"MJ had a point at Halloween: sunglasses and baseball caps aren’t the way to go," Bucky said as he ran his hands through his hair one more time. "They distract you, and you can do so much more with the eyes."

"Do we create false stories about ourselves too?" Steve couldn't entirely keep the mockery out of his voice.

Bucky looked at him flatly. "If you want. But you can be just Steve, out to have a good time."

"Show me a good time, then," Steve said, and before he knew what was happening, Bucky was holding his hand and leading him into a club.

"Let me know if it gets too much,” Bucky said, and that was the last thing Steve heard before obnoxiously loud music temporarily deafened him.

He held onto Bucky like he was the only thing keeping him forever, and for a while, it was. The floor was too dark, the disco lights too harsh, the noise unbearable and the fear of being recognized, paralyzing —

Then his heart started beating to the rhythm of the music and his eyes learned to avoid the beams and focus on the outlines.

Bucky swirled him so that their chests were flushed and he was grinning.

"Told you it'd be fun!"

"What is this place?"

"A tolerant bar where people can be whoever they want to be," Bucky's mouth graced Steve's ear and he shivered. He held Steve tight, a hand still in his, the other around his waist, and then he rolled his hips sideways. Steve had no choice but to follow, and Bucky swayed them until Steve felt strong enough to stand completely on his own.

He looked around, and hardly anybody was glancing his way. The few that did mostly stared at Bucky — Steve was a true nobody here, especially compared to the gorgeous image Bucky presented.

And while a part of his brain freaked out at the thought, he could now enjoy it; enjoy just being out on a date, enjoy thinking that he had a different life. Maybe he was the type to seduce people with his innocent act. Maybe Bucky was this hot young thing ready to get some hearts broken. A stealer of dreams and a killer of hopes, the both of them an evenly matched pair.

The music was loud enough to drown out Steve’s own thoughts, his anxieties and his worries about being so open with Bucky in this dark place. He rejoiced in the fact that he could touch Bucky, run his hands up his arms, draw him close, kiss him, even; smearing some of the make-up onto his own face. Bucky’s teeth glowed in the UV lights as he laughed and span Steve around, just for the fun of it, before pulling him close again, and Steve shivered when Bucky’s hands caressed his back — the same back that Bucky had scratched up the day before, when Steve rode him cowboy style.

There was absolutely no need for alcohol to get high on: Bucky’s smile sent Steve to the stars, just like the brief, stolen moment of absolute freedom they had in the faceless crowd. Unlike the Halloween party, where Steve had been acutely aware of the guests and the exists, now he wouldn’t have recognized if Iron Man landed in the middle of the dance floor as long as Bucky was still in his arms.

A couple of people attempted to ask Bucky for a dance, if them trying to grind up to Bucky from the side could be called that, but before Steve’s vision could turn red and manifest in an impolite dressing down, Bucky turned away from them and kissed Steve hard enough to bruise, to mark — to mark as his own.

Every time someone tried to get Bucky away, Steve tensed up less and less, and reveled in being claimed publicly more and more. Who knew, maybe he did have a bit of a voyeurism kink; maybe it was a side-effect of having to repress himself so much.

And maybe it was small-minded of him, but a primal part of him also delighted at how the few glances that were thrown his way in the dim, pulsing lights spoke of envy. Bucky was undoubtedly a catch here; would’ve been even without his alias, and yet he only had eyes for Steve. Aware of his environment, yes, because he always guided them so that they wouldn’t tread on others, but he only smiled at Steve, and kissed Steve, and nuzzled against Steve.

Bucky could always make Steve feel exquisite.

He suspected that Bucky could actually dance well, but Steve couldn’t, so Bucky mostly dictated how they swayed together. That was freeing, too: no need for Steve to worry about a direction, no need to make decisions. He let go of the wheel easily when he knew it would be in good hands — that _he_ would be in good hands. And _oh_ , were Bucky’s hands the _best_.

He span Steve around and then drew him back in, and Steve didn’t try to catch himself when he knew Bucky was waiting to do just that. Strong arms wrapped around him again, sure and steady, and there was nowhere else Steve would’ve rather been.

Steve never wanted this night to end.

The music changed from the heavy bass thumping to a softer, lighter track; closer to what Steve would’ve ordinarily preferred. He put his arms around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky put his around Steve’s waist in response.

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky murmured in his ear.

They were flushed against each other, and Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky’s. Their noses bumped when Bucky lightly kissed his lips, and even in the darkness, the cool blues of Bucky’s eyes sparkled endlessly. Steve closed his own, not to prevent drowning — that ship had sailed a long time ago — but to commit this feeling to memory.

While Steve certainly loved sex with Bucky, and a few touches between his legs would’ve been enough to get him going now, he was just as thrilled to be on the dance floor as he was to be in bed. This was a different, but no less significant or important kind of intimacy: to touch each other through the soft fabric of their clothes, to feel the sweat forming on their skin, to breathe each others’ breaths. To move together as one, just like on the battlefield, but while fighting was for the greater good, their dance was for themselves only. The pleasure was in the freedom of anonymity in which they joined, united.

Then the music picked back up again, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes or hands to himself, and the most wonderful thing was, he didn’t have to. He messed Bucky’s hair up by constantly pulling him in for a kiss, and Bucky laughed, breathless, every time.

“I should’ve brought you here sooner,” he said, in a brief moment of lull in the music.

“Was worth the wait,” Steve replied, and Bucky gripped him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't upload yesterday because there was a scene in a later chapter that I had to rewrite, which means that sometimes soon you'll get two chapters in a day! Woohoo! 
> 
> I know there's a lot going on in this chapter, but I didn't have enough to fluff it out and make it into two, so... yeah.
> 
> Also I watched so many Russian cartoons for this chapter, and also, created a lot of headcanons for the Halloween party. #research Btw, Sharon and Nat are both dressed as Tinkerbell-like fairies, if you were wondering.
> 
> YAY FANART!!!! I've inserted the art created for this fic by the lovely and incredible [Bees](https://beesandbroomsticks.tumblr.com/) to chapter 1; but you can also check out [Steve](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/556497fbe4b0077f89bf1c81/t/5c78bcde971a1877578fb818/1551416556195/stucky-au-2.jpg?format=2500w) and [Bucky](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/556497fbe4b0077f89bf1c81/t/5c78bcc3f9619a0d006aabc4/1551416526685/stucky-au-1.jpg?format=2500w) at the Gala here! Go and shower her with love, she deserves it!


	9. i'm a mess but i'm the mess that you wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Dancing With Our Hands Tied_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anxious chapter for an anxious song. Standard TWS warnings apply.

_i loved you in spite of_

_deep fears that the world would divide us_

 

“I’d like to take you somewhere," Bucky said one night. He was on his side on the bed, looking up at Steve, the night light from the clock reflecting on his blue, blue eyes.

"Where?"

“You’ll see.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and only when he was actually waiting on the sidewalk at the address Bucky had given him did he consider how easily he agreed. Without knowing anything about the destination, or the purpose of this visit, just… following directions like the good soldier he never was.

_No._

Following the word of someone he trusted, someone who’d never given him any reason to doubt. Just like at the club the other day — maybe it was the light of day that made it harder to accept, somehow. Under the cover of the night everything seemed to exist on an entirely different plane, where he could be someone he wasn’t and nothing could hurt.

He hoped Bucky would take him out to another club, because the one the other night was… He had never, in a thousand lives, imagined he could enjoy anything like that, but _man_ , did Bucky made everything fun. And Steve may have gotten a few songs to his phone that he heard at the club, to set his morning runs to, because the beat fit his rhythm nicely and the reminder spiked his heartbeat. _Maybe._

Re-listening to the songs made him realize something: he had not once thought about using their outing to “accidentally” out themselves. And when he thought about — hoped — to go again, it wasn’t with the underlying desire to use Bucky to change his image.

That nasty little voice urging him to just do that was completely gone; banished by the strong beat and had not returned even in the silence.

  


"Hey handsome," Bucky greeted him lowly, wearing a cobalt sweater, the hood pulled into his face.

"Hey yourself," Steve smiled back at him. He himself took Bucky’s advice to heart, and forewent his usual jacket and baseball cap ensemble — their night out remained anonymous, so Bucky must’ve been onto something. He just wished it was raining more: nothing made New Yorkers look the other way more than being forced to hide under wet umbrellas.

They were in a quiet neighborhood of Brooklyn with brick apartment complexes; not a place Steve had visited often.

"Where we going?" he asked Bucky.

"You’ll see soon," Bucky said, and so they walked the streets quietly. Steve kept an eye out for any sign of their destination, but he found nothing to give it away.

Bucky stopped in front of a building completely indifferent from the surrounding ones, glanced up to the top, took a deep breath, then walked the stairs up to the entrance door. Steve watched this with growing apprehension.

"Everything okay?"

"Sure, just. Not many people have been around here." Then he frowned at something, but opened the door with a code.

The inside was equally run of the mill: mailboxes, faded signs, a few broken tiles, but an overall clean and inviting, if dim, interior. Only Bucky’s behavior gave reason to suspicion.

They rode the elevator up, then Bucky took out a set of keys and opened a nondescript white door.

"I wanted to show you my private apartment," he told Steve as he let them in.

Oh.

_OH._

"You also live in Brooklyn?"

Bucky blinked at him. " _That’s_ your main takeaway?"

"Yeah? I’m just... I don’t know. Never mind. Thanks for showing me," he smiled, but again, Bucky didn’t return it.

Steve loved Brooklyn. He grew up here, or at least in a Brooklyn of the past, and even though it had changed to the point of unrecognizability, now that he got used to it again, he wouldn’t have wanted to move anywhere else.

He knew that Tony lived in California half the time, and Sam in DC, and Thor in Asgard or wherever his girlfriend was, but he didn’t know of any superhero that lived in Brooklyn, specifically. Well, Peter had Queens, but that just wasn’t the same, was it.

It made something warm unlock in his chest, the knowledge that he shared a place with Bucky that was so important to him. Even if Bucky wasn’t born here, didn’t grow up here, he now still lived in the same borough as Steve.

Bucky's apartment was much smaller than Steve's, just like the building itself. But the shabby exterior didn't do justice to how... _nice_ the place really was. The walls weren't missing huge chunks, the wallpaper wasn't stained on coming off in patches, and everything seemed to be clean and cozy. Not at all what Steve had expected from the building, but very much what he expected from _Bucky._

He took a few tentative steps — Bucky appeared to be waiting for him to go ahead — and noted that the design was the same bright primary colors that he also had at the Tower, just _more_. The carpets, the blankets on the couch, the pillows, and even the many, many pictures on the walls, featuring Bucky amongst kids of color, wearing clothes that Steve's artistic eyes identified as stylistically identical to the interior design.

And then Steve jumped when a cat meowed at him from a tall cat-tree.

"Hi there," Steve said, and the cat meowed again.

"That's Amanda," Bucky said. Steve just eyed the cat awkwardly, and Bucky huffed and stepped close. "Offer your hand to smell, and _blink_. This isn't a hippogriff."

Steve grunted, but did as told, and Amanda sniffed his finger carefully before sitting back down, out of comfortable reach. Bucky grinned, and stroked her neck, and the cat purred happily.

"She isn't very used to company," Bucky explained, and warmth spread in Steve's chest. "I'll give you a tour."

The living room was only divided from the kitchen by a counter, and Bucky had three video game consoles under the TV that Steve could count, and also a ton of games lined neatly on the shelves, next to a variety of books. Steve ran his eyes through the titles and felt a sudden wave of shame upon his own book collection that had little to offer besides historical tomes and "must read" classics.

The kitchen looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Steve couldn't have identified more than two applications out of the dozen that were placed on the counter and on top of the cabinets, and he suspected more may be hiding in the cupboards. Everything was squeaky clean, but evidently well used; something that couldn't be said about Steve's own kitchen.

Steve felt like someone in a folktale, a princess being led around in a secret castle. A window to Bucky's soul. Or maybe Steve was just projecting his own emotions about his own apartment onto Bucky's, but he couldn’t help but be in a bit of awe as he was led into the bedroom.

The giant bed was covered with a red and black, triangular blanket, and it took up most of the floorspace. The glass door next to it led to a small balcony, and Steve saw orange and yellow leaves on the nearby trees. Then he saw movement from the corner of his eyes, and only the introduction to Amanda prevented him from jumping again. Except this wasn’t a cat, but an unexpected brown snake sliding around in a glass enclosure that was built into a shelf-system.

"Oh wow," he looked at it. "You have a snake?"

"It's a ball python," and to Steve's horror, Bucky unlocked the enclosure and grabbed the snake.

"You didn't have to disturb it for my sake," Steve said.

"He's not in shed or digesting, so it's fine," Bucky said, and Steve watched in fascination as the snake wrapped around Bucky's flesh hand and kept smelling the air with its tongue. Bucky petted its head, and the snake didn't even react, but when Steve started talking again, it hid its head under the body.

"What's it called? Oh. Why is it doing that?"

"He's a ball python, he curls into a ball when he feels threatened. And he's called Kimoyo."

Steve suspected that was from something Japanese and decided he didn't want to know.

"Isn't he dangerous?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't we all?"

Yeah, good point. Steve considered Bucky, standing tall with that metal arm, long hair, menacing look, holding up a big snake wrapped around his hand — that was an image that could project power, could elicit fear. But the Bucky that Steve knew just wasn't like that, and maybe that was true for Kimoyo as well.

"And ball pythons are extremely docile. He doesn't even eat the food I give him half of the time... he literally wouldn't hurt a fly."

Steve nodded. "Okay, I'm just. Not used to snakes."

"They are very good pets," Bucky said, then placed Kimoyo back into the terrarium. The snake slid off of his hand easily, and hid in a rock-like hide. "They like humans because we are warm, and they need heat. They like to cuddle."

Amanda meowed up at them, and Steve only slightly jerked this time — her soft footsteps made no noise on the plush carpet. Bucky locked Kimoyo's door and then picked the cat up, who began purring immediately upon receiving chin scratches.

Bucky's bedroom had even more books, and the only shelves without books held potted plants of all kinds: cacti, ivy-like climbing plants, huge ones with palm leaves. There was wardrobe with half a door open, and Steve recognized a bunch of weapons and other gadgets used for missions.

Every available surface held pictures of Bucky in a tribal attire that covered his left arm completely, surrounded with black kids and adults and farm animals. Steve couldn't identify where they were taken from the blurry background, but wherever it was, it had a lot of greenery.

Bucky watched his every move with the true eyes of a sharpshooter.

"You have a very nice place," Steve complimented. He didn't know how he could say what he felt, that Bucky made this apartment his home in ways that Steve couldn't do with his own, even after years of trying. His heart sunk suddenly at the thought that maybe he would never fit into this new century, that maybe he would always be someone out of time. And that maybe, when Bucky would realize this, he would find someone better for himself.

"You have someone to look after the plants and the pets when you're on missions?" he asked, because he was genuinely curious and not just because he wanted to divert his own attention.

"They need watering once a week at most, and Kimoyo only eats once every ten days, so it's not really a problem. Amanda needs frequent feedings, though, but my landlord can usually help me out," he looked down at the cat whose eyes were closing rapidly. "That, or Nat comes over sometimes."

Steve stomped down the spark of envy that flared to life in his chest. "Yeah, that's great."

"Yeah. I mean it's a lot smaller than yours," Bucky said, "but maybe you could come over sometime, too."

"I don't mind it being small," Steve smiled. "You really made this place your own. I couldn't even do that in, like, five years."

"You have no living things there, those help with creating a lived-in atmosphere," Bucky pointed it out, and gently put Amanda down onto the bed. She grumbled, then curled up into a bun and blinked up at them from there.

"All my plants died on a long mission," Steve admitted. "I never got new ones."

Bucky looked at him knowingly, but didn't say that Steve was a miserable loser who didn't even have enough local friends to invite one over to occasionally water the plants. Steve was thankful.

"But you filled this place with love," Steve went on. "In such a short time, too."

Bucky kept staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"Steve, I've been here for some time now," he said after a while, carefully.

"A couple of months?" Steve asked. "A short time to adopt, but—"

"More like a couple of years," Bucky said, and half-hugged himself with his metal arm.

"What," Steve said.

Bucky took a deep breath.

"Come on," and he led Steve back to the kitchen and poured them a glass of scotch each. He drowned his in one go, then refilled his glass, grabbed the bottle, and threw himself down onto the couch on the living room.

"What were you doing here for years?" Steve asked him when he, too, sat down next to Bucky, following him kind-of star-struck.

"Recovering," Bucky murmured, and his eyes found Steve's, and they were shining weirdly. "I... I know you haven't read the file, so, um."

"You don't have to tell me," Steve said. "If you're not ready."

"I want you to know, and you should hear it from me," Bucky said, twisting his glass in his hand. Steve didn't dare to reach out.

"Okay," Steve said. "Okay."

"I didn't volunteer," Bucky said, then sighed. "Look. I don't want this to be this... revelation, this, this plot twist, this grand gesture of trust - but I can't come up with a subtle way of bringing this up and I hate that it's looming over my head. I trust you with this."

Steve swallowed. "I'm listening."

"I didn't volunteer, in Russia. I was recruited, as was everybody else my age, and y'know what? I'd been happy in the army, even. It was only... my mom and my sister. We had a hard time making ends meet, but then they had my pension. I could snipe really good, they made me the equivalent of a sergeant, I even got a slight raise of money. I had to train some of the young ones, get them used to the army. But then — then this division came, the Red Room, and they started picking out folks, looked for certain things — I got on their list because I was a good shot. But I didn't get to do any shooting for them. That, now, that was... that was where the bad things started. They wanted to recreate a serum that gave America, the Big Bad Enemy of Mother Russia, its best soldier. They weren't very successful, more soldiers died than survived and even then, our serum was a cheap knockoff with nasty side-effects."

Bucky’s voice became awfully hoarse, and he wasn’t looking at Steve, or anywhere, really — he seemed to be in the past, in a horrendous place.

_They wanted to recreate the serum._

Steve’s serum.

And Bucky was now as strong and fast as Steve, was a very useful weapon, could kill with any tool or none at all…

_I didn’t volunteer._

Steve tramped down his nausea, because this really wasn’t about him, he really shouldn’t— but he, at least, _had_ volunteered…

"I was injected, I survived. They trained me so I wouldn't only snipe anymore, I got good money, and I still hoped I'd go home one day to my family, my sister and my mother, I wrote them letters weekly, they even encouraged that - my handlers. They said so many nice things, how I was shaping the future for my little sister, they let me daydream... I trained the youngsters there too, that's how I met Natalia. Then I got a new handler, one that didn't like my fantasies much. He... he did a lot of shit to me, tried to make me the best patriot out there, but I never was a believer much... he had the brilliant idea that the best way he could turn me into one would be by killing my hopes, and he brought me photos of my mother's and my sister's corpses—"

Bucky let out a small whine, but when Steve tried to touch him he shook his head. He wiped his eyes with shaky hands.

"No, I'll never finish, I... I've told this a few times, y'know, but it never gets easier? But those photos, those fucking photos— I almost killed my handler then and there. They had to restrain me. The asshole realized he made a mistake when I wouldn't be calmed and he had me undergo this program— it was apparently for the enemies of Mother Russia, to make people work for us. They fucking used it on me, they erased my memories, my life, my fucking everything..."

Steve felt his tears overflowing, because. This was just.

He used all his might and practice to prevent reaching out to Bucky, his hands shaking with the effort, and to stifle his snuffling, only to let Bucky finish.

Bucky, who wasn't better off — his metal arm left red streaks on his right wrist, his tears streaks on his cheeks.

"They turned me into a killing machine. All the missions they couldn't have given me earlier were all mine, now,” he snarled, “because they erased my morals too. When I came back from a mission with my left arm damaged, they fucking took it and replaced it with a better weapon. My mind was rebelling, the serum was trying to heal my brain, so they froze me between missions. Like a fucking weapon when not in use, back on the shelf."

Bucky let out a wet, angry laugh. "I wanted to say they didn't hurt me that much, when I planned this speech in my head, because they didn't torture me, actively, they didn't... break my fingers or rape me or anything you hear in stories like these, but fuck that. Fuck that because what they did was enough, they took me from me after taking my family...." He had to ball both fists to prevent the shaking. He took a deep breath, then another, then another, and he looked at the floor when he continued.

"Natasha recognized me on a mission. SHIELD had a kill order on me at that point, but she thought better of that, just like Clint thought better of his order when he met her. I didn't remember her and she said later that she wasn't seeing... me, anymore, just a suit without the will inside... so she pulled some strings and they captured me instead of killing me. She... I'd be dead, without her. Or worse, still with the Russians. I would never have broken their control by myself."

Steve twitched, and Bucky, perfectly aware of his surroundings even now, saw it. He didn’t look Steve in the eye, but he nodded, slightly, and Steve couldn't hold back anymore, he lunged and pulled both arms around Bucky. Bucky melted into his embrace after a moment of stillness and clung to him, fingers leaving — blessed, treasured — marks on Steve's skin.

"I underwent years of therapy and now I want to repay the help," Bucky mumbled a some minutes later. He squeezed once before he leaned back and swiped his eyes. "I'm not as noble as you and Parker, I... I've done some bad shit—"

“It wasn't your fault,” Steve said sternly.

A small smile appeared on Bucky's face. "A lot say it was. All the media, to begin with."

"They're idiots. They don't know the whole story—"

"They wouldn't care," Bucky interrupted. "That's why SHIELD didn't disclose it. My backstory would just fuel the fire — _why didn't Ihe run away? see, he said he was happy in the beginning, maybe he wanted to be there!_ — and don't say I could leave out those parts; someone'd dig them up and then everything else would be questioned too."

Steve shook his head but said nothing; Bucky's arguments — SHIELD's, really — were too solid. Now he was the one who had to ball his fists in frustration and anger.

"Let's face it, Stevie, the only way I'd be easier to hate were if I were a woman," he said with a mirthless laugh.

That tore a small, desperate laugh out of Steve. "Yeah, but you shouldn't be hated — you're wonderful —"

"You're a dope," but the smile was more and more real on Bucky's face. "And the people I killed are still dead, doesn't matter that I never wanted to kill them. I want to make up for that, if I ever can, by saving who else I can."

"That's all that matters," Steve said. "That you want to do good now."

Bucky leaned in and Steve pulled him close, to feel his heartbeat, his lungs moving, to know he was alive. Bucky buried his face in Steve's neck and followed the rhythm of his breaths.

“I’m so sorry any of this happened to you,” Steve said, because he couldn’t stop himself. He expected the “it wasn’t your fault” thrown back at him, rightfully so, although the serum—

“Thank you,” Bucky said, defying his assumption, and his shoulders sagged. He took a deep breath before he went on. "I was so afraid of you," he whispered, and the muscles in Steve's arms involuntarily spasmed. "When SHIELD okayed me for fieldwork someone said... someone said that the only thing stopping me now would be Captain America. If he didn't approve of me... that night at the Gala I was so afraid you'd take one look at me and tell me to leave."

"I'd never," Steve was shaking again, this time with burning hot rage. "Whoever told you that?!"

"I know that now, I was just an idiot for believing the same lies the media spurted about you that they spurted about me too—"

"Buck, who told you that?"

"No. You won't go after them on a manhunt, I forbid. I have enough blood on my name."

That took the fight right out of Steve.

“I wouldn’t kill them,” he grumbled.

“It’s still not worth it. I… hey, precious.”

Steve followed where Bucky was looking, to an Amanda who sat at the doorway and looked at them with mistrust in her eyes.

“C’mere, Steve doesn’t bite. Not you, anyway.”

The tension left Steve with a snotty laugh and he batted Bucky’s arm. Amanda meowed.

“She wants attention,” Bucky sighed, but leaned into Steve instead of standing up. “She and Kimoyo, they’re both great therapy animals. Helped me recover.”

Steve hugged Bucky close, and looked at the cat with a bit more trust than before. He wanted to crack a joke about Bucky’s arm, but he thought better of it the last moment — Bucky just shared how unbelievably traumatic his life was when he was _forced_ to have it, for fuck’s sake—

“Spill,” Bucky said, again not looking at Steve. “I can feel you trying not to say something probably stupid.”

Steve felt himself redden. “It’s inappropriate.”

“I just said you like biting me, what could be more inappropriate when it’s just you, me and the cat?”

Amanda kept staring at Steve in a way that told him that she would gladly maul him up and serve him for breakfast for the snake.

“It’s easy to be good with cats when you have an arm that’s scratch-resistant,” he mumbled.

Bucky stared at him for a solid minute, just to give Steve enough time to wish the floor would swallow him, then he snorted. Steve still noted that his hands were slightly trembling when he gestured between the cat and Steve.

“Fair enough. Okay, enough of this nonsense: you feed her and she’ll love you forever. Come on.”

  


Steve's first night at Bucky's flat was spent with immense amounts of cuddling.

The confession took a lot of energy from Bucky, who clung to Steve's shirt with white knuckles, and fell asleep in his arms under two heavy layers of blankets.

Steve, for his part, felt like he had been cut open and left to bleed until only the void remained inside. He couldn't calm his mind enough for sleep, as Bucky's story ran in circles in his mind, and his imagination filled the missing parts with horrifying images.

A young Bucky willing to help his family. An older Bucky being tortured. Pictures of Steve's own Ma, shot down dead.

His breath hitched — it was a miracle Bucky was even _functional_ , let alone so... healthy, after what he must've went through.

No wonder he needed years of recovery.

A hard voice to mute in his head was the one that reminded him how much it had been because of Steve— not all of it, but it definitely _started_ with Steve. With Steve being so desperate to prove his worth and fight Nazis that he repeatedly lied until he was able to enlist into the supersoldier program — and then his face and achievements were used as propaganda all around the country, and it not only encouraged Americans to support the war, but the Soviets to support theirs too, to try to create their own supersoldiers…

And Bucky paid for that.

Amanda lay atop her cat tree and kept staring at Steve with unblinking eyes despite how much she had liked the treats Steve had given her, and Steve couldn't not take that metaphorically, like he was put to Bucky's tests again, to see what he would do with this new information.

What he wanted to do was to find everyone that wronged Bucky, that had ever hurt Bucky, including the Russians, the person that warned Bucky against Steve, and the reporters who repeatedly dragged his name through the mud without _knowing anything about him_ , and make them _pay_. He recognized the fire that roared to life in him as the destructive and impulsive force that it was, and he almost got up to tweet something fierce or to ask Nat's help to track down some assholes.

Nat.

Nat had a similar backstory, and she knew Bucky from their days in Russia.

There was no way anybody was left alive after she found out what had happened to him.

Steve let out a long breath and the fire inside subsided.

The very last thing Bucky needed on his plate was to have to deal with the fallout of Steve's stupidity and be blamed for new things he wasn't responsible for. The problem was, Steve had no idea what Bucky needed the _most_ , thought; so he settled for lacing his fingers through metal ones and holding Bucky tight through the night.

 

Lucky for him, Bucky wasn't shy to tell him what he wanted, and after breakfast he promptly kicked Steve out.

"I need to be alone for a few hours," he said. "But I'll come by later? Tonight?"

He had prominently dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you sure...? I mean, I can stay—"

"No, Steve. I know what I need, which is to calm my mind, and I can't do that while you're anxiously hovering over me."

Steve didn't let it show how much the truth of that hurt, and went back to the Tower.

The file on Bucky from Fury was still in his drawer, unopened but constantly tempting.

He stood with it in his hands, conflicted over whether or not it was a good idea to read that right now — but he had to _know_. What his mind conjured up could only be worse than reality, especially given how little he slept: insomnia made everything horrible.

After an hour and a half of reading, he had to conclude that he had been wrong.

Nothing that he imagined was as bad as what had actually happened to Bucky.

He poured himself a generous amount from the awful vodka Nat had given him a long time ago, then, hoping that repetition would desensitize him, went back to the beginning and started again.

Bucky had been born in the first half of the century — he was almost as old as Steve. He had just been frozen in cryostasis between missions, because even the frequent brainwashings and memory erasures couldn't prevent the superserum from repairing his mind and him rebelling against his captors.

The superserum that was based on Steve's. Like a discount experiment done on dogs.

Steve threw the file at the wall and it shattered at impact, the sheets of paper falling down like it was snowing tragedy.

And the worst was, before his family was killed, when he was with the Red Room willingly, he hadn't done anything unforgivable. He was sent on intel missions with a team, and hadn't done anything that Steve and his Commandos also hadn't done during the war. But when his mind was wiped he was used as nothing more than a weapon: no need to worry about consequences or morals when your killing machine couldn't make decisions or ask questions.

If the American public had known about this, he wouldn't just be called a notorious bad boy: he would be blamed for the shit he had no control over.

And all Steve had been able to think about him when they met that he could change his reputation using Bucky’s.

Good thing he forgot to eat lunch, and there were only the distant remains of his breakfast and the ale that he threw up over the toilet.

 

He called Nat, but the line went unanswered. She would call back, or find him later, when it was convenient.

He couldn't call Sam: he would have to ask Bucky to share the gist of the story, and he didn't want to bother him just yet.

So he did the third most sensible thing he could think about and headed down to the gym.

"JARVIS, please notify me if anyone wants to come in," he told the ceiling.

"Of course, Captain."

He taped his hands and then went to town on the punching bag.

To each of his punches, typewritten words flashed before his eyes: _asset. Unresponsive. Uncooperative. Repeated treatment. Procedure. Restraints_. Each of them innocent on their own, but in context they created a story Steve didn't want to know.

But this was not just a story; this was what truly happened. There was no escape — this was Bucky's past, and if Steve wanted him, he would have to deal with it.

The pain cleared his mind and calmed him down. He no longer imagined he was punching Bucky's captors, at least.

He had no idea how long he was at it. Only his fists and the bag existed in a painful universe: the thumps, the grunts, the swinging bag. It took a lot to exhaust Steve, but he welcomed it when his muscles began to ache, when sweat trickled down his forehead, when his T-shirt stuck to him uncomfortably.

His stupor was broken by a hand catching his fist as it was raised to land a blow. He looked up — had to push sweaty strands of hair away to see clearly — and Bucky's frowny face looked back at him.

"Bucky?"

"After my queries went unanswered, Captain, I thought it would be better to let Mr. Barnes in," JARVIS said.

"I wasn't expecting you yet," Steve said. Bucky was still holding his hand.

"Steve, it's past 6PM."

"...oh."

"Have you been at it all day?" Bucky turned Steve's hand in his own, and Steve realized that he broke skin, even through the tape. Red blood seeped through the white fabric.

"I also read your file," Steve said.

"Yeah, I saw. I went to your apartment first," Bucky said. "I even talked to Sam."

"Oh?"

"He says that coping mechanisms shouldn't entail self-destruction, which I also could've told you," he unrolled the tape from Steve's hand, then did the same with the other. "But you'll heal fast."

Steve had no idea what to say. He never had healthy methods to deal with shit, but suddenly he felt stupid for choosing to beat up a boxing bag to the point of bleeding through his tapes.

"I needed to..." he began, but had no idea how to finish.

"Justify the hurt inside with the hurt outside?" Bucky asked, still in Steve's space.

"...yeah."

"I know how that feels," Bucky said casually, ever so casually, but it didn't fool Steve. Not anymore. "But I also know a better way."

He stepped closer, until their chests were flushed and Steve could see even the smallest of specs in his irises. Then he reached down Steve's sweatpants and gently stoked Steve's length.

Steve moaned and then hid his face in Bucky's shoulder.

"You shouldn't be comforting me," he said. "I should you."

Bucky tightened his grip, tearing a whine out of Steve.

"First off, I've had years to comfort myself, and you only had a day," he teased the tip with his thumb. "And second, does this feel like comforting?"

He squeezed down on the base of Steve's cock, and Steve was smart enough to take a hint, and he backed up. Soon Bucky had him flushed against the reinforced bag, literally holding him by his balls, and then his fingers began teasing Steve's hole.

"I think it _will_ feel like that," Steve croaked.

Bucky kissed his jawline, behind his ear, his neck, and Steve shivered.

"Upstairs," Bucky whispered, and they couldn't keep their hands to themselves as they rode the elevator and tumbled out on the living floor, and into Bucky's apartment.

Bucky held Steve's hands above his head, easily restraining him with the metal prosthetic.

None of Steve's partners had been able to hold him down.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked when Steve tensed.

"Nothing, just. I know now why you're so strong and—"

Bucky yanked his pants away. He literally _tore them off_ of Steve. His boxers suffered the same fate. Steve could only gape, which got worse when Bucky pushed a finger against Steve's lips.

"Suck it," he ordered, but before Steve could do more than to precursorily wet the tip, Bucky was already pulling it back and down between Steve's legs. Steve groaned when it was pushed past his rim.

"It’s kinda stupid to think about that now," Bucky said. He moved his finger in and out, then circled it, then moved it deeper. It took a moment for Steve to realize what Bucky meant.

"Are you trying to... ahh... fuck the stupid outta me?" Steve asked.

Bucky pulled his finger out and Steve whimpered. His metal hand still holding Steve's both very human hands in a deadlock, he directed Steve to the bedroom, pushed him down the mattress, positioned his legs obscenely wide, and then squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his own fingers.

Every single touch of his sent golden sparks flying along Steve’s skin.

"Even with the serum, I don't have the stamina for that," he said, then pushed the finger inside. "I don't think anybody does. But it couldn't hurt to try, don't you think?"

Steve could only whine as one finger became two, and Bucky's metal hand didn't relent, and Bucky's whole body blanketed Steve, still fully clothed.

Then Bucky pulled his pants down enough to free his straining cock.

"Is this okay?" he whispered into Steve's ear.

"Yes, please, more," Steve said, or begged, or cried; not like it mattered.

Bucky positioned himself and entered Steve slowly, watching Steve's face closely with an expression close to worship.

"You alright?" Bucky asked when he was in as deep as it got.

Steve nodded, blinking sweat out of his eyes. "Can I... touch?"

Bucky let go of his hands, and they immediately found their way around Bucky, holding him impossibly closer.

"This was supposed to be rough," Bucky grumbled, but a smile played on his lips. Steve kissed him, and then all over his face, wherever he could reach.

"You can still be," he reminded Bucky.

Bucky's smile turned wicked. "You're right," he said, and before Steve could make a mental note never to challenge Bucky, he pulled back and thrust in with abandon; and from then on, all Steve could do was to hold on for dear life as Bucky pounded his worries and angst away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the very first scene that I wrote for this fic was in December 2017, soon after the Rep album came out, and it was eventually inserted into this chapter. 
> 
> Taylor Swift singing DWOHT and the audience screaming the line "I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted" is such a mood btw


	10. you are the one i have been waiting for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _King Of My Heart_

_say you fancy me, not fancy stuff_

_baby all at once, this is enough_

 

After Bucky's confession, they spent nearly every night together, whether it was at Bucky's or Steve's, or at the Tower. Bucky sometimes wanted space, and asked Steve to leave or not to go over during the day, but even at those occasions, he was back by night to let Steve hold him tight and hold back in return.

This meant that Steve didn't have to worry about poor boundaries as the result of Bucky's trauma, which Nat seconded.

“He won't let you pressure him into anything,” she said. Then she spun to show off the flair of her poofy skirt.

“The pink looked better,” Steve said.

“I agree, I just wanted to try these large flowers,” she shrugged, then closed the curtain of the changing cabin. “And I’m glad he told you.”

“So am I.”

“If you start to pity him,” she said, slightly muffled from probably being in the middle of putting on a sweater, “he’ll ditch you before you could say Mother Russia.”

“He made that very clear too,” Steve said dryly. He still flushed whenever he remembered the vigor with which Bucky tore his clothes off. For the _second time_ in their relationship.

“Good. You know, I’m happy for you,” Nat opened the curtain, and indeed she was wearing a hideous Christmas sweater: bright yellow with a cartoon reindeer on the front.

“You should be,” Steve said quietly — they were discussing very private matters in a public clothing store, after all. “You’ve spent long enough trying to hitch me up with someone.”

“I spent long enough trying to hook you up with _him_ ,” she remarked.

“You _what?!”_

“Come on, I knew you’d work out together and I was _right_.”

Steve gaped at her.

“Call it a thank you for you setting me up with Sharon,” she continued. “Okay, I have enough clothes. You, on the other hand…”

“I have enough too, thank you,” he said a bit stiffly.

Why he was surprised at Nat’s scheming, after all these years, he had no idea.

Though it wasn’t like she was wrong in the end, so.

“Don’t you want to try something new, though?” she asked him, and if he didn’t know better he would’ve said she could read minds — and maybe she could; she hit jackpot with him and Bucky, after all.

And maybe he wanted more… like what they did with Bucky, at that club. To be less like Captain Rogers and more like Steve.

“Maybe,” he said, and she grinned victoriously. Whatever; she had earned a prize for her good work. “Dress me up, then.”

And Nat did, with incredible commitment and finesse: she dragged Steve from store to store, and only nodded a few times at how he stepped out of the changing rooms — not many things could gain her approval. But she picked a beige, chunky knitted sweater that somehow made Steve look modern instead of ancient; a very tight burgundy turtleneck and a grey, tweed-like jacket to go with it, and straight jeans made of deep blue denim.

Steve himself only put one thing into his cart: a royal blue dress-shirt that fit him like a glove. He didn’t need one, per se, but he noticed how Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve’s biceps, and maybe, just maybe he wanted to encourage that. Just a little.

Which brought him back to an issue he had meant to bring up with her.

“What happened to the Red Room?” he asked, carrying her bags. “After you found out about him?”

Nat looked him in the eye with an expression that effectively reminded Steve that she got her superhero alias for a reason, and that reason had nothing to do with rainbows and unicorns.

“I went after them,” she said. “I took a 2-month leave with Fury's permission and tied all loose ends.”

“Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me, I didn't do it for you.”

“No, but now _I_ don't have to do it. Fury’d never let go of me for that long.”

Nat's stare broke with a surprised raise of an eyebrow.

“I told you you were going to be good together,” she said, and patted his cheek.

 

Steve didn’t want to become one of those people that always drew the same thing over and over again, but it was unreasonably hard to focus on anything when his mind was full of blue eyes. He was thus in the middle of  recreating the way the light played on Bucky’s lashes as he was napping on the couch when his phone rang.

"Hey, raincheck today?" Bucky asked, out of breath. "Spider-Man and I are gonna fight some lizards in the Bronx."

"Sure," Steve said. The plan had been that he'd go over to Bucky's for dinner, but who knew when the lizards will be dealt with. "Wanna come over when you've saved the city?"

"That sounds nice," Bucky said. "I'll call you — don't do anything stupid."

"How could I?" Steve asked back, and he knew the laughter was palpable in his voice. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

He experimented with acrylics as the playlist he created from that night in the club played in the background, and he didn't even think to check the news — they all risked their lives on a daily basis, but the possibility of something going wrong was always distant, unlikely. And Bucky, especially, was very good at taking care of himself.

When his phone rang again with Bucky's caller ID Steve didn't even think that something had happened. Not until he heard his voice.

"So, um, change of plans," Bucky said in a raspy, timid voice.

"Buck? What's wrong?" Dread coiled in Steve's stomach. He scrambled for the remote to turn the TV off — but surely it wasn't that bad; someone would've called him—

"I got hit," Bucky said tiredly. Beyond a layer of exhaustion his voice sounded okay, at least. "Nothing serious, but I'm staying in the Tower tonight."

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, more or less," Bucky said. "Would you mind... coming over?"

"Of course not," Steve said immediately. "You need anything? I can be there in..." he checked the time, surprised to see that it was past 11. "Half an hour, tops."

He let the remote fall from his hands to the couch and went for his jacket instead.

"Just you," Bucky said, and he audibly relaxed.

 

Maybe Steve was going a bit over the speed limit on the way, but he didn't have it in him to care. The bike was barely parked as he jumped off, and instinctively passed the button to the medical floor — however, JARVIS overrode him.

"Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes wishes me to inform you that he is recuperating in his own suite."

"Thanks," Steve said, and the elevator took him there swiftly.

Bucky was in his living room, curled up on the couch with his legs tucked underneath him. He lifted his head and smiled at Steve weakly, and Steve knelt in front of him.

"Hey."

"Hey there," Bucky said, and he reached out to Steve with his right hand. "Cuddle with me?"

"Gladly," Steve said, and they shuffled until Bucky was mostly laying atop him. "What... how are you?"

Bucky lifted his left hand to show him the matted, blackened silver plates on his lower arm.

"Spider-Man discovered some gigantic lizardpeople in the sewers and called for backup. I had to engage in close combat and made a mistake, and I had to block a blast with my arm."

"A blast?"

"They had weird laser guns," Bucky waved with his flesh hand. "I had X-rays and everything is normal, but we don't know if the arm took extra damage — Tony will run some tests tomorrow morning, and I was advised against leaving."

Steve let his forehead drop to Bucky's shoulder. "I was so worried," he said.

He hadn't even told Bucky to be safe when they talked earlier.

"I'm fine," Bucky said, then sighed. "My back is a bit sore, that’s all. But damage to the arm — it brings up bad memories. And so will the checkup tomorrow. I... didn't want to be alone."

"You don't have to be," Steve told him. "I'm here."

"Thank you," Bucky said, and nuzzled Steve.

He was dozing off in minutes, despite how the couch was definitely not big enough to comfortably fit the both of them. Steve held him close and made sure that he would rest as well as possible, even if his own arm was falling asleep.

He checked the news on his phone with his free arm, but there was no video of Bucky taking a hit. Maybe that was for the better, though — this way, he could only get angry at how unfairly Bucky was portrayed, and how his injury didn't even warrent a proper cover.

Bucky couldn't sleep much: not long after Steve succumbed to sleep, he woke up with a start, panting heavily.

"Buck?"

Bucky scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for the bathroom. Steve heard him splash water onto his face, and when Bucky came back, wet strands of hair were falling into his face.

“Sorry to wake you,” Bucky murmured.

“It happens,” Steve waved. “Wanna talk?”

“You ask that as if you would talk,” Bucky snorted. He moved closer, but instead of the bed he sat down on a huge armchair, tucked his feet under himself, and rubbed his face.

And he was right. Steve wouldn't want to talk about his issues — not only because he grew up knowing that showing any kind of weakness was good as a death sentence, but also because he genuinely believed his problems, his nightmares or his insomnia were not important enough to be worth a mention.

But Bucky had gone through hell. And then therapy. And maybe there was some use to talking, after all.

“You can pressure me when I have a nightmare,” Steve offered.

“I’ll just challenge you to a dare and you won't be able to resist,” Bucky said, then sobered up. “I’d been stressing about telling you about my past, and then there is this stupid blast, and I...”

He sighed, and he held his left wrist with his right hand.

"Tony said he couldn't do the checkup because he'd been awake for too long and needed to sleep first, but I know he just wanted to give me time to prepare. Normally Amanda helps, or I bake a lot, but I couldn't leave the Tower, and...  I'm just antsy now."

"I'm sorry," Steve said helplessly.

"This really isn't your fault," Bucky huffed.

"I can still be sorry about it," Steve fired back. "Especially since you having told me is part of it."

"That's got nothing to do with you," Bucky said.

They considered each other for a few silent moments.

“Did, I mean, um. Did it help that you told me?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Yeah. Especially given how well you took it.”

Steve looked down at his knuckles where the bruising has already healed.

“It doesn't feel like I reacted well.”

“There's no right reaction to a situation like that,” Bucky said. “But you didn't run screaming to the other direction, so. I counted that as a win.”

“I don't know how I could help.”

“You’re not here to help me,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “We are dating, you’re not a nurse or something. But thank you.”

Steve considered what Bucky said _would_ help him.

"Can't you bake here?" he asked.

"Since I'm spending most of my time at Brooklyn, I don't have the supplies," Bucky shook his head. "And I better not strain my arm anyway."

"I didn't know you could bake," Steve said.

“Who do you think made those muffins you love so much?” Bucky asked.

“...I didn't think about that,” Steve admitted.

“Figures,” Bucky said, massaging his left shoulder with his right hand.

Struck by a sudden idea, Steve stood up and walked behind him. He put his palms on Bucky’s shoulders, and began to knead slowly, but firmly.

“What—”

“Maybe this’ll help you relax, even if it can’t ease the discomfort,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky held stiff for a moment, then he relaxed into Steve’s touch. Steve worked with his thumbs, applying enough pressure but staying under the threshold of pain, and Bucky arched his back, arched into Steve’s hands even more.

"Shouldn't have I bought Amanda over? If she would help?" Steve asked.

"The journey would freak her out," Bucky said slowly. He blinked up at Steve, and Steve placed a kiss to the top of his head. "Not worth it for half a day — tomorrow I'm going back to Brooklyn anyway. And you don't have a key."

"I would've figured something out," Steve said.

"You would've broken in, you mean," Bucky snorted.

"...maybe," Steve said sheepishly.

He kept mostly to the neck and the shoulders, especially to the flesh around the prosthetic arm. He couldn’t reach the lower of his back because of the backrest, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. He kept his head down to give better access to Steve, and even moaned when Steve hit a particularly sore spot.

Even through the fabric of Bucky’s shirt Steve was efficient, as proven by Bucky’s yawns and his slowing speed of speech.

"Giving you a key would solve that problem," Bucky said absent-mindedly. "In the meantime, you could come with me tomorrow."

Steve's mind supplied a string of keys and the notion that he could be at Bucky's whenever, and his hand stilled for a second. They would no longer need to wait for a mission to be over to coordinate a meeting; he could feed Amanda instead of Bucky's landlord.

It was almost as significant as having a key to Bucky's heart.

"Earth to Steve. Are you there?"

"What?"

“You could come with me to Tony, for my arm,” Bucky repeated, and yawned. Steve stared down at him for a solid ten seconds until his brain finally caught up with him.

“You'd like that?”

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.”

“Oh. Okay, right, yeah. Yes, of course, I’ll come. Gladly.”

“Thank you. For the massage as well,” Bucky said, and Steve stepped back to let him roll his shoulders.

“Better?”

“A lot,” Bucky said honestly, and smiled at him.

They climbed into the bed and he settled in Steve's arms again, and gently kissed Steve's lips. He curled up flushed against Steve, the top of his head tucked under Steve's chin, and he huffed, cat-like.

 

They headed to Tony's workshop together after breakfast. Bucky was tenser than normal, and he still had dark circles under his eyes from his rough night, but his grip in Steve's hand was gentle.

"Please have a seat; Sir will be here momentarily," JARVIS told them, and Bucky hopped onto a comfortable leather chair that had not been there when Steve last visited the workshop.

Steve didn't quite know what to do with himself: he couldn't see himself sitting down, but he felt out of place just standing there, like he was there to supervise. Bucky solved this by reaching out for Steve, and he stepped close enough for Bucky to lace their fingers together.

The smile on Bucky's lips was small, but honest.

"Hi, Mr. Barnes, I hope you're better now! Oh," said a young voice, and Peter Parker dropped the box of, by the sound of it, metal tools to the floor.

"That had better not been anything fragile," Tony's voice came from the depths of the workshop.

Steve helped Peter with the damage control, to Bucky's visible amusement.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers," Peter added, subdued.

"Yeah, the arm's fine too," Bucky said easily.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," Peter said with such intense despair that they both took pity on him.

"Don't be like Captain Noble here and assume responsibility for what's not yours," Bucky said, rolling his eyes. Steve met Peter's eye in quiet agreement, though — if nobody assumed that responsibility, nothing would change.

But maybe Bucky had a point: if it damaged them, who was left to help?

"Hello, Steven, fancy seeing you here," Tony said, hurrying to the table with arms full of various devices.

"As long as you just see and don't fancy," Bucky muttered. Peter snorted.

"I'll have you know I'm in a happily monogamous relationship," Tony said indignantly. "And even if I wasn't, I'm not enough of a cookie-cutter for Mr. American here."

Steve frowned. "Tony, you know I’m really not—"  

"Wasn't this the sonic plug you were looking for?" a voice interrupted him, followed by the superhero-in-disguise girl, MJ.

"Yes, where was it?" Tony snatched it from her.

"The dumb one of your bots hid it under the cushions. Hi," she waved at Steve; noted his hand holding onto Bucky's, then nodded. "Nice."

"What's nice?"

"Some LGBT representation in the Avengers," she said.

Steve flushed. "We're not, um, out yet. To the world."

MJ shrugged. "You said it: yet. Therefore, nice."

Steve had no idea how to react, and neither did the other adults in the room. Peter stared at her with little hearts almost floating out of his eyes, but of course nothing could faze Tony for long, so he broke the silence.

"So, since I'm fully awake and not overly caffeinated, so we can begin," he told Bucky, and Bucky nodded and swallowed. "Peter, grab the electromagnetic— not that, the one with the red— and bring it here, we have a job to do."

They disabled the receptors in Bucky's arm, so he didn't feel any pain — he couldn't even move his arm. Even for Steve, it was disjointing to see it reduced to a piece of metal; he couldn’t imagine what it was like for Bucky. It was such an essential part of Bucky; a living part, that Steve had whiplash from seeing it lifted and repositioned without Bucky's will.

The biggest sign of Bucky's discomfort was that he didn't let go of Steve's hand once as Tony took scans of the arm, and even kept up a steady banter with MJ about Lady Gaga's latest music video, of all things. They even poked fun at Steve's lack of cultural knowledge, which was fair, given how much better Bucky was at this than him.

"Okay, everything checks out," Tony announced. "No need to involve other specialists.

"I'm clear?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"You're clear. But if you experience anything out of the order—"

"I know, I know," Bucky said. "Not my first rodeo."

"I know, but we have to provide a good example here," Tony said, nodding at Peter. "Now then: time to get everything online again. You ready, Bucky Bear?"

Bucky nodded and braced himself, and Tony connected some wires. A shiver ran through Bucky's whole body and he squared his jaw, and then he could open and close his metal fingers.

Tony shut the planes of his arm and proclaimed they were done.

"Thank you, Tony."

"Don't mention it," Tony waved.

"I'll fetch Dummy to give you a treat," MJ said and turned on her heel.

"Isn't she amazing," Peter sighed.

Bucky’s and Steve’s eyes met over his head in a knowing expression.

"She's a good kid," Tony agreed.

"I wish she had superpowers," Peter went on. "Not in a traumatic way, just, you know, so that she could be a superhero!"

"I'm not giving her a suit," Tony said after a pause. "I don't need that particular hell unleashed in my life, no, thank you."

"I just wish I could be her sidekick," Peter sighed again, and at that, Bucky couldn't swallow his grin back.

 

They took a taxi to Brooklyn, because Bucky wasn’t up for either commuting or riding. He curled up to Steve's side on the way home, only occasionally squeezing his hand to show that he hadn’t retreated into himself; and at home he immediately hugged Amanda to his chest.

“What do you need?” Steve asked him.

“Just not being be alone.”

Steve sat down on the couch, and Bucky lay so that his head was in Steve’s lap. Amanda kneaded his chest, casting distrustful glances Steve’s way and trying to find her place. Steve cautiously ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, mindful of her claws.

“I’m actually _fine_ during the check-ups," Bucky said, and he petted Amanda to encourage her to settle down. "Tony is as unlike anything in the Red Room as possible. It's just after being unable to move my arm that brings back a lot of bad stuff. So thank you for being here."

"Thanks for letting me be here," Steve said, and bowed to kiss his forehead.

“Don’t tell her, but I think you may be better than Amanda at this,” Bucky mock-whispered.

Steve snorted and twirled a long, silky strand of hair around his finger.

"I didn't know that Peter was bringing MJ, I would've warned you."

"She didn't catch us doing anything embarrassing," Steve shrugged. "And Peter trusts her."

"They are good ones," Bucky agreed. "Peter is such a nerd."

"Just like you?"

"Exactly like me," Bucky said. "If my arm isn't "offline," I like doing research on it too."

"And you clearly know more than me,” Steve said. "The most I know about modern science is on vibranium. I need to know what my shield can do and what it can't. And I understand the basics, you know, I've picked stuff up in this century, but our education system was very different than what kids have to learn today."

Wakanda had announced they had vibranium a couple of years ago, and that they were more advanced than what met the eye at first, but they were still pretty secluded. Ready to help anyone that seeked out their shelters all around the world, but not eager to open their gates to outsiders, from what Steve gathered.

He was mostly interested in their studies on vibranium, though, but there wasn't a lot out there.

Still, thinking about vibranium after watching the reparation of Bucky’s arm planted the seed of an idea in his head; something he’d need to examine later, once it’s bloomed into something concrete.

"And it doesn't help that we're surrounded by geniuses," Bucky smiled. Amanda finally stopped shredding his shirt, and curled into a loudly purring bun on his chest. Even Steve could feel the vibrations — she way like a freight engine. "I never went to college."

"I studied art for a year before the war — fat lot of good it does for engineering."

“You can learn anything nowadays, though. There’s a beginner’s level course online for _everything_ ,” Bucky’s voice turned wondrous.

“You really like this world, huh,” Steve smiled at him.

“I no longer have to wonder how motors work, I can just watch a video on YouTube, of course I do!”

“You nerd,” Steve said affectionately.

Bucky stuck his tongue out at him, then yawned. “How about we take a nap and have fun afterwards?” he asked.

“What fun?”

“I could read the latest issue of _Science Today_ while you doodled?”

“If I can doodle you,” Steve said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but Steve could’ve sworn that the redness of his cheeks wasn’t just the result of his imagination.

“Fine, you may.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, and when Bucky turned his head up, he kissed him willingly. “You _nerd_ ,” he added, and Bucky smiled at him.

 

Since Sam was temporarily back from DC, Steve left early in the morning to have a run with him — one of the last ones of the season, if the dropping temperatures were anything to go by.

Bucky had allowed Sam in onto some details about his past, and Sam was a touch more trusting about Bucky's intentions afterwards, to Steve’s relief...

“People don't come back from torture unscratched,” Sam muttered.

...but there was still room for improvement.

“We don't know what he had been like before,” Steve pointed out. “And he has the serum. That helps your brain deal better.”

Sam cast a disbelieving glance his way.

“Are you speaking from experience? Because if this is you dealing better than before, then that’s not reassuring at all. How did you even survive the thirties?”

“Despite everybody’s expectations,” Steve said cheerfully, and lapped Sam once to drive his point home.  “But yeah, I’ve never been well-balanced.”

“No shit,” Sam said. “Speaking of, how much are you blaming yourself for what happened to him?”

Steve stared at Sam and almost tripped on the pavement.

“How—”

“Man, you blame yourself for _everything_. This even involves you _personally,_ what with his serum being derived from yours,” Sam said in a neutral voice.

“I know that it wasn’t my fault,” Steve said defensively. Because he _did_. Intellectually, at least, especially since he had a few days to deal with it all.

If he hadn’t been selected for the supersoldier program, someone else would have been. Besides, there were too many possibilities to predict what could’ve happened if Steve had acted differently.

And yet.

“But you still feel like it was,” Sam pointed out.

Steve was sometimes lured into thinking about Sam only as a superhero, and not as a therapist, he realized. But he owned an explanation to Sam as a friend, so there was nothing else to it.

“I’m trying not to. I think Bucky would hit me over the head for it — he’s very firm about boundaries and responsibilities and stuff.”

_“Stuff?”_

“He asks for and accepts help, but he always makes it clear that his shit is his to fix. He wouldn’t— he’d never think the serum was my fault, or Erskine’s, or anyone but the Red Room’s.”

He was one hundred percent certain about that, even without talking about it, even if his own emotions disagreed.

Sam concentrated on breathing for a few hundred yards.

“I hate saying this, but I’m with him on that,” he said, and indeed he pouted theatrically. “I’d even go as far as to say that there are some things you could learn from him.”

Now _that_ was something Steve couldn’t let go.

“Oh, I have learned _plenty_ ,” he said, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Sam groaned. “I take it back, he’s a horrible influence — but enough about your love life. What’cha doing for Thanksgiving?”

Steve pretended to focus on jogging while his thoughts ran wild. He expected Sam to invite him to Thanksgiving with his extended family, just like usual — Steve had spent major holidays with either Peggy while she was alive, or with Sam, unless he wanted to be away from the world and went on a mission.

But now he had Bucky in his life, and truth be told, the idea of the two of them cooking together and then watching something silly seemed perfect.

“That still ties in to my love life,” Steve smiled shyly at Sam who rolled his eyes.

“Well, you’re welcome with the Wilsons, if you can tolerate the noise.” He paused for a few beats meaningfully. “You _plural_.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Steve said, but there was more honesty in his voice than mockery: the fact that Sam would welcome anybody who didn’t want to be alone was something worth treasuring. “I’d like to spend this one with him, though. If he wants. Holidays aren’t easy without Peggy, though she never cared for Thanksgiving in particular.”

“And my nieces and nephews drive you crazy,” Sam offered.

“…that too.” Even if Bucky had other plans, Steve would probably hole up on his own, maybe even visit Peggy’s grave. “I may bring some flowers to her.”

Sam looked at him for a long time. “I don’t know whether to suggest not to take your date to the cemetery to your ex-girlfriend’s grave, or to suggest that you _do_ because doing that alone on a holiday is just depressing.”

“I think he would understand,” Steve smiled, because Bucky _would_ , and knowing that chased away any worry he had.

 

Steve kind of hated himself for how many of his decisions were still motivated by "if the great people of America could see Cap doing this, they would be outraged." On the other hand, it was completely worth it for the expression on Bucky's face when he opened the bedroom door to Steve laying casually on top of the covers in nothing but a bow tied around his cock.

"Hi honey, I'm home," Steve said.

It took three tries for Bucky to be able to speak. "Isn't that my line?"

"You took so long I thought I'd help."

"You are awfully cheeky for someone who's about to be pounded into next Thursday."

A shiver ran through Steve and the bow enhanced his eagerness.

"You'd like that, huh," Bucky said.

"If I gave you the impression that I have anything against you in me, I've been doing something wrong," Steve fired back, but there was no covering the blush that spread not only on his cheeks, but on his chest as well.

Bucky finally stepped into the room and shed his jacket on the way.

"You've been doing something very, very right," he said as he leaned over Steve and ran his hand over Steve's ribs.

"So have you," Steve said. "Me. So get undressed and do me again."

"Is that how it is?" Bucky asked, teasing a nipple, to which Steve could only keen.

Bucky was nothing if not effective as he got rid of all his clothes, and also very gorgeous. Steve would have to persuade him for a nude portrait — then all his coherent thoughts flew out the window when Bucky pressed himself next to him, kissed him with fervor and began playing with the bow.

"I wanted red, white and blue," Steve said breathlessly. "But they only had the blue."

"I think your mouth needs something better to do," Bucky said, and rolled them over so that he was on his back. He took himself into hand and stroked his half-hard cock.

Since they both knew that Steve had a Pavlovian reflex to dares, and also to Bucky's cock at this point, he climbed between Bucky's thighs and got to work.

Mouthing at the tip got a whimper out of Bucky; licking the shaft a full-body tremor, and when Steve swallowed him down until his nose was buried in fine hair, Bucky arched up from the bed completely.

"I swear you get more wicked each time," he panted, and Steve swallowed his grin to make room for more.

He bobbed his head up and down, sucking and licking, quickly redeeming Bucky to an incoherent, sweaty mess. He timed his breaths to his movements and disregarded the mess on his chin and on the covers as well, because really, who cared when Bucky was making those beautiful sounds above him?

But the bow, which had seemed like a good idea, backfired on him when it kept teasing his own straining erection, and he couldn't help but rut into the mattress, seeking friction.

Still, he brought Bucky close to the edge — he recognized the shift in his breathing, how his metal fingers twisted involuntarily in Steve's hair, and he braced himself to swallow it all down — when Bucky pulled him back and said, very unexpectedly:

"No, wait, uh, wait!"

Steve immediately straightened up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's, um, wrong," Bucky covered his face with his hand, then peaked out to glance at Steve. "I just, um. Shit, I should've gotten this over with when we weren't in the middle of things."

Now Steve was tumbling from mild anxiety to increasing panic.

"What, Bucky? What is it?"

Bucky lowered his hand.

"I know that this is unfair after I promised to fuck you, but, um."

"We can stop," Steve said. "It's important that you feel comfortable and—"

"I _know_ that," Bucky grumbled. "And I do feel comfortable. It's just that, I'd like to, um. Bottom. Today."

"You would?" Steve couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Bucky had never given an inclination — sure, neither did Steve, but...

"Told you we shoulda done this with pants on," Bucky said with a self-deprecating smile. He got up to a sitting position to be at eye-level with Steve, and he twisted his fingers. "Yeah, I actually like... both ways."

He paused, and Steve felt it was his turn.

"So do I."

"I just... after everything that happened... I'm not very good with letting other people into my body."

Steve reached out and Bucky held onto his hand. "We don't have to—"

"But I _want_ to," Bucky protested. "You got me so nice and relaxed with that filthy little mouth of yours."

Steve hesitated. "We can just get each other off tonight and be more prepared next t—"

"If you don't want to fuck me, say that," Bucky interrupted him, suddenly angry. "Otherwise let me decide what is best for me."

They stared at each other sulkily.

"I wasn't trying to do that."

"Yeah you were, because you are a control freak," Bucky said.

Another moment of staring ensued.

"Okay. Yes, I want to fuck you."

"Good. Stay here while I clean up."

Bucky disappeared into the bathroom, and Steve thumped down onto the bed.

Well, at least they weren't at Bucky's apartment and there was no Amanda to stare.

He got rid of the ridiculous bow by the time Bucky got back, and he donned a less frowny face, too.

"I do want this, Steve," Bucky said. "Have, for a while. I just brought it up at the wrong time."

"I trust you," Steve said, because at the end of the day, it boiled down to that.

"Thank you."

"How do you want us?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"I can be less of a pushover," Steve rolled his eyes.

"You on your back."

While Steve found a comfortable position, Bucky scavenged the lube from the drawer.

"Can you prep me?"

"Yeah, just... kiss me first?" Steve asked, because their fight, small as it was, dampened not only his erection, but the mood as well. But Bucky Barnes was magic, because he straddled Steve and gave him a kiss that would've awakened Sleeping Beauty too, before it tamed into something deep and loving.

They stopped when even the superserum didn't provide enough oxygen; Bucky's hair fell down and framed his face, and obscured the rest of the world from them.

"I want you," Bucky whispered, nose bumping Steve's, and Steve was floored by fondness for this amazing man.

"I want you too," he whispered back, and followed Bucky's directions as he set to open him up.

One finger went easily enough, but two required a bit more lube, and Steve scissored and circled and pistoned them for a generous amount of time before Bucky gave him the go for three. He wished he could see what he was doing, but the position didn't allow that; instead he had Bucky's beautiful face to gaze longingly at, which he did. Every one of his movements got a reaction from Bucky, let that be just a sudden intake of breath of a fluttering of eyelashes, and Steve drank all of them in, like a starving man at the desert.

His heart had never feltilled this full.

Then Bucky stroked Steve's cock back to hardness, positioned himself, and sank down inch by inch.

At that point they were both gasping for air; Bucky closed his eyes but his mouth fell open, and Steve could've sworn he had never known pleasure like this.

When Bucky opened his eyes, Steve had a split-second to brace himself, because then Bucky rolled his hips and Steve gasped.

"You feel so amazing," Bucky croaked. "You are... ahh, you are..."

Steve palmed Bucky's ass, his hips, his arms; anything to get his hands on. "Oh my God..." he breathed. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

"You can move," Bucky urged. "You— AH!"

Steve thrust up, and Bucky fell to his chest, to the very best position for Steve to kiss him fully.

"I got you, baby, that's it," Bucky chanted, and met each of Steve's thrusts with a roll of his hips.

Steve got Bucky's cock into his hand, but barely had to give it a few strokes until Bucky hit the edge with a shout. Come streaked Steve's chest, and some even his chin, too.

Bucky fell forward limplessly, and Steve rolled them over. Bucky's hair fell everywhere on the pillows, and he himself gazed up at Steve dreamily.

"That's it, baby, come on," his voice was hoarse, and he crossed his legs over Steve's ass to drive him closer.

Steve didn't needed to be told twice: he pushed in, reveling in the fact that _Bucky could take it_ , and indeed: a few thrusts later he began to harden again, and clawed at Steve's back when Steve drove in just right.

Then Steve came suddenly, and the surprise tore a raw scream out of him. Bucky rolled his hips still around him, milking him, before he wrapped a hand around himself and jerked himself off.

Only when he came for the second time did Steve pull out gently, and he couldn't do more than to flop down to the mattress and stare at Bucky in awe.

"That was," he said.

"You were," Bucky agreed. He looked at his chest, then Steve's; everything was a mess. "Fuck it," he decided, and curled up to Steve.

"Mhm," Steve said, and wowed to only allow a moment of shut-eye for himself before he promptly fell asleep, safe and very, very content in Bucky's embrace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN YOU TELL I LOVE KOMH BECAUSE I DOOOOO
> 
> on a sidenote: shall I add the proper track titles to the chapter notes? i realize only now that not everybody is as hardcore a Taylor Swift fan as i am. please let me know!


	11. i don't want you as a best friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Dress_

_flashback to my mistakes_

_my rebounds, my earthquakes_

_even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me_

 

"Harder," Steve panted, barely registering that he was leaving scratch marks on Bucky's back. "More, give me..."

Bucky grunted and drove into Steve. The bed rocked under them. Steve lifted his hips up to get a better angle, and Bucky rolled his to meet with him.

"Shit, Stevie, I'll..."

"Yes, don't stop," Steve used his heels to pull Bucky closer and encourage him to go faster, not that Bucky really needed that encouragement. "Oh God!"

Bucky came with a yell at a particularly vigorous trust, and Steve honestly felt like his whole world was rocked.

Then it wasn't just a metaphor anymore as the bed cracked pitifully, then the frame broke apart, sending the mattress — and with that, Steve and Bucky — rolling to the floor.

"Oh my God," Bucky scrambled to his feet and then pulled Steve up. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Steve said, slightly trembling. "Not... the afterglow I expected."

"I thought it could take us," Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and stared at the bed with disappointment.

"It wasn't built for Mr. Sex on Legs," Steve mumbled.

Bucky gaped at him. "Says the man who can take more pounding than a bed."

They stared at each other, sweaty and panting, and then began laughing at the exact same time.

Steve shivered slightly, so he snuggled close to Bucky, but the whole situation was just hilarious. "I've never broken a bed before," he said.

"Neither have I, at least not with sex," Bucky said, and kissed Steve's temple. "Hey. How does a hot shower and then sleeping on the pull out sound?"

"Great," Steve said. "I don't want to go anywhere for a bed."

"Then we won't," Bucky kissed him again, softer than ever, it felt. "We'll cuddle and get rid of this mess tomorrow."

Steve didn't have the mind or the energy to do more than agree wholeheartedly.  They found out that Bucky's bathtub could fit the two of them nicely, and that the afterglow in the warm water was just as good as the bed would've been, especially with the nice wine that Bucky brought for him.

 

"No, not like that... you have to tease more, make it feel real."

"It's never going to be real, Bucky, it's a piece of plastic feather at the end of a string," Steve said with more ptelutance than he intended, but who could blame him: his bonding session with Amanda included the cat staring loathingly at him and his attempts to get her to hunt down the toy.

"You're not giving your all."

"Cats just don't like me."

Steve whipped the string again, and Amanda barely flipped her tail in response.

"You can still feed her at night, she likes that," Bucky offered, which was true: she let Steve pet her whenever food was involved. A step forward, he guessed.

Steve put the cat toy down, and laid out on the warm carpet. Bucky was on the sofa, nose-deep in a paperback.  

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, and Bucky looked down at him. "Do you want to spend Thanksgiving with me?"

Bucky blinked at him twice.

Steve considered elaborating, but surely Bucky knew what Thanksgiving was. When he didn't answer, Steve's anxiety skyrocketed.

"It's, um, not a big deal. But I thought we could cook and maybe watch a movie—"

"Steve, I'd love to," and the paperback was spent flying as Bucky landed basically on top of Steve. "I didn't... I thought you were going to spend it with..."

"I really don't have anybody with whom I'd rather spend it," Steve arched up to kiss him.

Bucky's hair fell down, framing his face softly. He pushed it behind an ear, and his eyes were shining as he smiled.

"I'd love to," he repeated. "But I did promise my landlord to drop by. He has this thing where his tenants show up a bit to talk and eat, like a community event..." Steve's heart fell. "...but you could come with me there, they mostly want my pumpkin cheesecakes and I won't stay long anyway."

Steve's heart rose again. "Sure thing," he kissed Bucky again.

 

On the morning of Thanksgiving, Steve went out early to Bucky to help with the cheesecakes.

“You don't have to,” Bucky said, but Steve shook his head.

“I’d like to.”

Baking as a skill fell somewhere between dancing and fighting for Steve: he wasn't particularly talented, but with the help of the right partner, he could learn fast. Bucky was completely at home in the kitchen, and he proved to be a very good teacher: he instructed Steve which bowl to pull out, how much to measure, stir some more, let it sit; all the while soulful rock played softly from the stereo in the living room.

Bucky worked on the crust while Steve gutted the pumpkin, staining his skin a nice, fall-like orange, and then the rest was just pouring everything together for the filling.

"Who knew you aren't so bad about following orders," Bucky joked when he came over to taste the cream.

"Not when it's you giving them," Steve fired back, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

Steve blushed. "Maybe."

"Maybe my ass," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Just you wait, because I'll test that out one day."

"Yeah? And what will I get out of it?"

Bucky ran his eyes up and down Steve's body. "Depends how good you behave."

The redness spread from Steve's cheeks to his neck, and he was only saved by the beeping of the oven, indicating that the home-made crust was ready.

Steve watched as Bucky used his metal hand to get the tray out, and his thoughts wandered from filthy to domestic.

Because it was; _they_ were domestic, and Steve had no idea what to do with that. The sex was much more uncomplicated than trying to befriend his lover's cat or going to a Thanksgiving dinner together, and yet Steve was playing with the idea of accepting a weekend at one of Tony's houses up in the mountains — something the billionaire had offered years ago — as a Christmas present to Bucky. He had no idea if he was doing this right, but it felt like their occasional dates had morphed into actually dating somewhere along the line, and that scared and delighted Steve in equal measure.

"You feel no pain in the arm?" he asked when he held the bowl from which Bucky poured the cream onto the crust.

"No burning," Bucky corrected. "Neither from hot nor from frost."

"That's good," Steve said, thinking back on the file and what it said about cryostasis.

Bucky nodded. "I used to get frostbite from being frozen. The metal conducted the cold really well. Some of my scars are actually from that."

Steve remembered what being frozen alive felt like, and he only had to go through it once. Voluntarily.

"You'll never get those again," Steve said, with maybe a bit more vehemence in his voice than how he intended.

"No, this material is much better," Bucky flexed his fingers when he was done with the cream.

"Not what I meant, but I'm glad," Steve said, and he eyed the metal arm in question — it was on him (though sadly not in him) enough times for him to tell that the material was different from most things Steve'd ever seen, except maybe his shield.

"I know," Bucky said softly. "And I do sleep better when I know you're with me, too."

 

“My god, this is amazing.”

Bucky was leaning on the counter and he just looked at Steve fondly.

“You are so easy to please, Rogers.”

“You’re just really good at it.”

Steve stole a sneaky glance at the rest of the cakes.

“No,” Bucky told him. “You’ll eat them all and still not be full, and I won't have time to remake them.”

 

"How formal is this party?" Steve asked him mid-afternoon, after all the cakes were done and nicely wrapped.

Bucky snorted. "Not at all. I'm just changing into something without food stains."

"Okay. So will I."

"You don’t even have flour all over you.”

"I just want to," Steve said, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

He had to iron the blue shirt and change into tight black jeans too, then he checked himself in the mirror. He looked closer to the self that went out dancing with Bucky, but he wasn’t unlike his normal self either. The material of the shirt almost reflected the light with how silky it was, and it emphasized his shoulders and his biceps more than anything else he owned. The jeans hung low on his hips, but tight on his back, and normally Steve would shy away from anything like this, but he had special plans for tonight.

"So, Captain Narcissus, are you r— holy shit," Bucky gawked when Steve walked out.

"I'm ready, we can go," Steve said, and gestured at the door.

"You can't just... Jesus," Bucky said, and Steve noted with no little satisfaction that his blush increased as his eyes roamed Steve. "How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you're looking like that?"

"I heard you snipers are good at multitasking," Steve said sweetly.

"But now I feel underdressed," Bucky pulled at the sweater he had on: a simple, worn black one.

"You can wear mine," Steve offered, and he brought out the beige chunky sweater Nat persuaded him to buy. He would've reassured Bucky that he'd only have eyes for him anyway, but the chance to see Bucky in his clothes was too good to give up.

"This is way out of my league," Bucky protested, hands gently running along the material, but Steve squeezed his hands as he passed it to Bucky.

"It really isn’t,” Steve said gently. “And you gave me your sweater the other day, anyway.”

Bucky looked at Steve from under his lashes, then nodded. "Okay."

He quickly changed, and his hair fell out of the bun he tied it up in.

"Should I?" he played with a strand.

"I think you should leave it loose."

Bucky nodded and checked himself in a mirror. When he turned back to Steve, he sighed. "Fuck, you still look too good. I hoped I could get used to that."

Steve kissed him. "Let's go."

 

Bucky led them up one flight of stairs, to the top floor, to knock on a door that had grey paint peeling off of it in places.

Steve didn't know who he expected. He had even forgotten to ask Bucky if his landlord knew that he was an Avenger, or that Steve was coming along too. But whoever he imagined as the faceless, nameless person they were visiting, it definitely was not Clint Barton.

His only consolidation was that Clint looked just as shocked.

"Hi, B— Steve! I didn't know you were coming?"

"I didn't know we were coming to _you_ , either."

Bucky steered both of them inside. "The fact that this is Clint's building isn't public, and I didn't think it was fair to tell Clint that Steve was here when I couldn't return the favor," he explained.

"You own this?" Steve gaped some more.

The place was undeniably Clint's. Clothes were left over everywhere along with take-out boxes and chips bags, and some doors and walls had holes that Steve bet would match the marks left by his arrows.

"Yeah, it's... a long and complicated story. Make yourselves at home."

Bucky put their containers on the counter.

Steve had a lot of money, but he didn't think it was enough for a whole apartment _building_.

"The tenants had a problem here," Bucky told Steve. "A mafia-shaped problem. Clint stepped in, and now the whole thing is his and the mafia isn't a problem around here anymore."

"Hey!" Clint looked wary.

"Steve doesn't judge," Bucky said confidently.

"I really don't," Steve said, and Clint relaxed.

"I smell food," said a new voice, and Steve turned to see a young woman with her eyes on nothing but the cheesecakes.

"You couldn't have smelled that from two rooms down," Clint told her.

"I heard the voices and I know what James's cooking is like," she said, and glanced at Bucky — only to be visibly startled by Steve. "Whoa, you brought the main course too!"

Steve suddenly regretted the dress shirt.

"He's off limits," Clint said, and she dramatically rolled her eyes.

"All the cute ones are and it's _unfair_."

"You have an alien _boyfriend_ ," Clint told her. "By the way, this is Kate Bishop, the other Hawkeye."

"Nice to meet you," Steve said, his mind still a bit all over the place. "Other Hawkeye?"

"The better one," she nodded. "And just FYI, you look even better in real life than on the screen. Okay, okay, I'm done," she scooted away as Clint threw and arrow her way. "No upsetting traditional American values, I get it."

Steve's eyes flew to Bucky. He wanted to disagree with Kate, but that would just encourage her, and he couldn't even reach out to his lover — boyfriend?

Bucky met his eyes, though, and Steve saw raw want in his blues, so he smiled in return.

"Just try the cheesecake," Clint sighed. "How am I the adult in here?"

"You really aren't," was the last thing she said before she began outright _moaning_ around the cake.

"Hey, where's Lucky?" Bucky asked.

"Napping. Lucky, here!" Clint said, and a few moments later an old and somewhat fat brown dog trotted to the kitchen.

"Who's a good boy," Bucky asked and crouched for maximum petting efficiency. The dog's tail wacked enthusiastically. Steve let him sniff his hand before he rubbed his side, too.

"I babysit Lucky and in return Clint babysits Amanda," Bucky explained to Steve. "They get on surprisingly well."

Steve smiled at him, and used the dog as a disguise to let their hands brush.

"You guys are actually the first today," Clint told them. "So you'll have to wait until the others roll around to get the food."

"That's okay."

"This cake is _amaaazing_ ," Kate said. "I envy you so much."

"I can send you the recipe," Bucky offered.

"We'd just burn the flat down," Kate said. "Clint, go and change."

"What?" Clint looked down at himself, a pair of old purple sweatpants and a grey T-shirt with holes at the hem. "We never dress up for Thanksgiving!"

"But they have," Kate gestured at Bucky and Steve.

"That's their choice," Clint muttered.

"You won't embarrass me in front of the neighbours," Kate warned.

"I'm really not the embarrassing one here," Clint muttered, but when Kate threw a kitchen towel at him, he retreated.

"Everybody else will be in their Sunday best, too," Bucky called after him.

Steve's heart grew a size at that, at Bucky defending his stupid dressing up idea to the world. But Bucky would defend him no matter what, he realized, and the urge to kiss him senseless intensified.

"The whole apartment's coming around?" Steve asked. Bucky's attention was still with Lucky, so Kate answered.

"Nah; some don't want, and some visit their whoevers elsewhere. People just started bringing food to us after they didn't have to fear the old landlords anymore, you know, because _giving thanks,_  and it's our tradition now."

"That's nice," Steve said.

"Especially since both of you are fire hazards in the kitchen," Bucky added. Kate didn't even blink.

"Yep; and more so because everybody makes too much, and we share. It's easier than cooking a three-course meal all alone, for a lot of people."

Not ten minutes later the first tenants arrived: two very old women with tupperwares full of mashed potatoes. They greeted Kate, Bucky, and the freshly returned Clint in a wrinkled shirt and faded jeans with familiarity, and didn't even blink an eye at Steve's name — though he was introduced as his best friend, to explain his presence.

Steve didn’t correct him — Bucky was, on one level, his best friend. The one who laughed with him and cried with him and spent the boring, noncommittal in-between days with him; and yet Steve didn’t want to be called that.

Their relationship was something else entirely.

"Oh, you have made dessert, James, that's wonderful!" Mary, the one with short hair, said. "We were really looking forward to that."

One of them showed photos of her grandchildren around, the other told a long story about the local Bingo afternoon. Bucky listened closely, and even offered a tissue when Charlotte had a sneeze.

"What a good boy you are, you really should find a nice girlfriend and settle down," she said.

"I'm not really interested in finding myself one," Bucky said politely, and pointedly did not look in Steve's way.

"Good; cats are better companions anyway," Mary proclaimed, which led to Bucky's slideshow of pictures of Amanda.

As time went on it became harder and harder that Steve couldn't do more than sneak glances towards Bucky. Clint and Kate's place became filled with people who were acquaintances to them, but strangers to Steve, and he could never deal with crowds like an extroverted person could. He wanted to lose himself in Bucky's arms, feel his charged touch, bask in his warmth; none of which he could while in public.

Bucky liked the olds, it seemed, but as soon as the younger tenants arrived and took over, tired lines appeared around his eyes, and he let his hair fell into his face. Whenever he spoke up, his Russian accent intensified, and soon he retreated to the corner of the living room with Lucky in tow, and used the dog as a shield from the world.

"Who wants something to drink?" Kate asked, and mixed drinks on the counter from whatever was brought to her — to various dishes, including mugs and cups, because they didn't have enough glasses. Steve brought a beer over to Bucky in a chipped brown mug, and he drank his own from a green plastic one.

"How you holding up?"

"I still want to rip your shirt off," Bucky murmured after taking a sip. "And I forgot how hard it is to pretend I'm not with you."

"We don't have to, if you think they're safe," Steve nodded at the room, but Bucky shook his head.

"I don't know. It's fine. I think everybody's here anyway and soon the party’ll be over."

It seemed that the tenants used the excuse of Thanksgiving to socialize and gossip with the neighbors freely. Clint and Kate's apartment was built similarly to Bucky's, but had a slightly bigger living room; though some used the balcony to smoke. And they were all really nice to both Steve and Bucky: no nasty comments, no asks for autographs. It wasn't their fault that Steve's preferred way of existence was in Bucky's arms.

All in all, they waited for less than an hour at Clint’s, and as soon as the last guests arrived, others began filtering away. People picked what they needed from the huge pile of Thanksgiving foods from the table, then said their thanks and their goodbyes.

"We could go too," Bucky suggested, back on his feet again.

They packed a bit of everything — some reheating would be needed, but no need to cook again that day, and Bucky seemed very enthusiastic about that as he waved at Clint.

"Let me know when you need me for Lucky again!"

"Let me know when you're making cheesecakes again," Kate replied, and then Bucky practically dragged Steve out to the stairwell.

"Is my place okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, but what's the rush?"

"I don't think I can keep my hands to myself for much longer," Bucky said, and they took the stairs down two at a time.

 

As soon as Bucky pushed their containers into the fridge, he was on Steve, and not just figuratively: he jumped into Steve's lap, his momentum staggering Steve backwards.

"Finally," Bucky panted. "I want to properly celebrate Thanksgiving."

"What?"

Steve pushed hair out of Steve's face as he looked at his confusion with kindness. "I can think of a few things to be thankful about."

Steve thought about what he read in the file, or how Bucky still woke up from nightmares every once in a while.

"So can I," he said and tightened his arms around him.

Bucky closed his eyes. "Sap. I mostly meant _you_."

"Did you?" Steve's heart skipped a beat.

"Let me show you."

"Yes, please."

But they barely got their shirts off when a loud meow interrupted them. Steve looked to the side to see Amanda glaring up at them from the counter.

"Right. Bedroom," Bucky instructed, and firmly shut the cat out.

Except when Steve wanted to throw himself down onto the bed, he didn't find it where it used to be.

The bed was gone.

Bucky's queen sized mattress was on the floor, neatly done and covered with tartans and cat hair, and the bedframe was nowhere to be found.

"What. Bucky?"

" _You_ made me break my bed, you don't get to complain," Bucky said, then crept up to Steve from behind and pulled him close. Steve shivered at the kisses on his neck and the hands squeezing his pecks.

But still.

"But... now you have no bed."

"I still have a perfectly functional mattress," Bucky whispered.

"But..." Steve bit his lip, _knowing_ that what he was about to say would get him into trouble but unable to stop. "I know you said no, but I can still pay for it—"

He really shouldn't have said that, because Bucky spun him around and pushed him down to the mattress in a heartbeat, keeping Steve down with his left hand.

"Did you receive training in how to ruin the mood? Because you are masterful at that, using finance-talk as your pillowtalk," he growled.

Steve swallowed. Bucky wasn't doing this to arouse him, and yet...

"Sorry," he said. "I just feel bad now."

"You should, but not for breaking my bed," Bucky straddled Steve. "We're unnaturally strong, we'd just break another normal bed anyway. The mattress is good enough for now, and I’m gonna show you, _trust_ me."

To punctuate that, he rolled his hips, left hand still firmly on Steve's chest, and Steve groaned.

"I do," he gasped. "I do."

Bucky's eyes shone as he looked down at Steve.

"Steve," he said, and the walls could've crumbled around them, the furniture could've caught fire, or high waters could've rushed the room, Steve wouldn't have noticed when Bucky said his name like that. "Steve."

Bucky undressed him slowly, reverently. Each button was undone with unprecedented care, then the shirt pushed off of his shoulders — a moment Steve had been waiting for all day long. In fact, it was the very reason he bought the shirt in the first place, other than how Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Then Steve pushed his own beige sweater up Bucky's arms and over his head, and his undershirt, too, to be able to map his muscles, to feel the skin on skin. Bucky's hair completely fell out of his bun and bracketed his face, making his eyes look darker, stormier — but no less gentle.

This was Steve's favorite place to be, and the best view he could ever ask for.

They shed their pants, too, but to Steve's disappointment Bucky didn't climb back onto him; instead he knelt between his thighs and laid his hands on Steve's knees. He had to push his hair out of his face, and he stared into Steve's eyes as he licked at his shaft.

Steve threw his head back and groaned.

Bucky kissed and teased his cock until Steve got hard, which took embarrassingly little time, and then swallowed him.

His mouth on Steve's felt like honey, sweet and golden, and every receptor in Steve's body angled itself towards him. Bucky could be rough, but now he was gentle as a feather, and it felt to Steve like he'd never known pleasure until they met. Nobody had seen Steve the way Bucky had. Nobody had _known_ him the way Bucky had.

Bucky kissed him, and licked him, and sucked him, and Steve instinctively grabbed his hair to hold onto something, or he was going to fell from his bed into nothingness. He was already floating, his body a weightless, borderless entity...

Then Bucky pulled off.

"Look at me," he croaked. "Steve. Look at me."

Steve did, and it took incredible effort to pull him back to Earth, but he did; and Bucky took him into his mouth again, and then Steve couldn't have looked away from those mesmerizing eyes even if he wanted to. He saw his own hand gripping Bucky's hair, and Bucky's head bobbing up and down, and his own cock disappearing and reappearing in his mouth, red and shiny, and he felt like he was looking at somebody else's body. None of these simple actions should've been responsible for the incredible pleasure he felt; for the way it built and bubbled inside him, like a golden, sparkling fountain.

The only cold color he could see were Bucky's eyes, and even those radiated warmth and glowed as they chained Steve to himself.

Bucky twisted his tongue and clenched his mouth, and the fountain overflew, and Steve came with a surprised shout.

"Steve," Bucky said again, after he swallowed it down, and Steve pulled him up to kiss him, tasting himself in Bucky's mouth.

"How'd'ya wanna get off?" Steve murmured, one hand on Bucky's erection.

Bucky paused for a long moment. "Bath?" he asked tentatively. "So we don't have to bother with the clean-up later."

Even though Steve agreed, he still shivered when Bucky climbed off of him to start the water, the air suddenly cool on his warm skin. He sat up and pulled a tartan over his shoulders, and as he looked around under the haze of the afterglow, something new hit him.

At first he thought it was something for the snake, but no.

Steve stood up and walked to the wall across Bucky's mattress, where the furniture had clearly been moved to make room on the wall for...

"...is that the bedframe?"

Bucky's head appeared in the doorway, following Steve's gaze.

"The bedpost. What remains of it, anyway."

A dark brown, wooden piece was displayed on the wall, at eye-level, and somebody — _Bucky_ — had neatly carved three words into the middle: _STEVEN GRANT ROGERS._

"I had to commemorate it," Bucky said. Steve just gaped, so Bucky came in, closer and closer, until their bodies were flushed together. "Hey. _Steve._ I'd like if you fucked me again."

Steve turned his head until he was looking at Bucky, slowly, because Bucky had apparently blew his brains out, and he couldn't comprehend even the most basic things.

"With this," Bucky added, and lifted a rubber dildo. "In the bathtub, which is now nearly full."

Steve's brain came back online, and he grabbed Bucky and lifted him bridal style. Bucky let out a yelp that turned into laughter, and then he was dumped into a tub of hot water.

"This isn't even halfway full," Steve accused.

"Just get in," Bucky ordered, which, fair enough: the water came up to nearly the edge of the tub with the both of them in.

Steve leaned back, and pulled Bucky close, his back flushed to Steve's chest. "You want this in you?" he asked, lifting Bucky's hand with the dildo in it. Bucky nodded, and guided Steve's hand to a small button at the base of the otherwise fairly realistic — and rather large — shaft, and the dildo began to vibrate.

Steve shivered again, this time not from the cold.

He kissed Bucky's jaw, then sucked a hickey on his shoulder while using his right hand to tease at Bucky's thighs and between his legs.

"Get in, hm?" Steve whispered, and Bucky snorted.

"Whenever you're ready, Captain Sassypants."

"Says the _actual_ bossy one," Steve murmured back, but he did circle Bucky's hole with his middle finger, then pushed in gently. First knuckle, then second, and circle, in and out, all the while he was listening to Bucky's small noises of pleasure and how his breaths were coming in shorter and shorter successions.

"Lube?" he asked, and Bucky picked a tube out of the many on the counter.

The hot water helped Bucky relax, and while he held onto the dildo, Steve used one hand to open him up, and the other to play with his dick: jerk him off a little, then hold down at the base, flick the tip with his thumb, roll his balls. Bucky was panting and his heart ran a mile not long after, and his metal hand left scratch marks on Steve's thigh.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," he heaved, and Steve took the dildo from him and lubed it up, then guided it between Bucky's legs.

"Relax," Steve said, because Bucky got tense again, and kissed his shoulder. "I got you."

Bucky nodded, then put his flesh hand over Steve's right, and helped to push the dildo in.

"A-ah," he panted, head falling back to Steve's shoulders.

Steve rotated the toy, and pulled it in and out, just to make sure Bucky got used to it.

"Ready?" he whispered, and only when Bucky nodded, did he turn on the vibrations.

Bucky's whole body spasmed, and water splashed to the floor.

Steve held him with one arm, and moved the toy with his other, and Bucky moaned openly in his embrace. Steve drew it out: he wanted to make Bucky feel as good as it was possible. He pushed the dildo in to the base, then angled it upwards, then back again; he then rotated it a bit to left and right, and Bucky jumped and groaned at that.

When Steve reached down with his free hand, Bucky was hard as a rock. Steve experimented with angles and depths until the twitching of Bucky's muscles and his increasingly loud moans told him that he found his prostate, and he brushed over it with the toy over and over again while he squeezed the base of Bucky's cock.

"Tha-at's it," Bucky moaned. "That... ah!"

"Wanna come?" Steve whispered into his ear.

"Yes, yes, I...AH!"

Steve jerked him once, twice, and Bucky came with a shout.

He fell back to Steve limplessly, and Steve turned the vibirator off and pulled it out. Bucky sighed a very content sigh.

There was more water on the floor than in the tub, and even the tub was getting annoyingly cold, which Steve hadn’t noticed until they stopped.

Bucky nudged the seal with his foot until the water began to drain, and Steve opened the faucet to get some warmth.

"You good?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky nuzzled him as much as he could, his back still against Steve's chest. "This was so amazing."

"Can you stand up?"

"Can _you_?"

He was right. Bucky trembled a little as he stood, but it took Steve three tries to get his feet under him. They used the detachable shower head to wash themselves clean of the lubed water and to warm up, not caring about drenching the bathroom too, and then helped each other out of the tub, mindful of how slippery everything was.

Bucky turned to Steve and kissed him fully.

"Thank you," Steve whispered, his forehead touching Bucky's, wet hair falling into their faces.

Bucky kissed him again, and the bathtub sex was an amazing idea: they didn't even bother with boxers after drying, just climbed under the covers to spoon, and Steve was out like a light with a smile on his face within a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this, i think, was easily my favorite chapter to write - i managed to hide so many references to _Dress_ and i'm pretty happy with it altogether!
> 
> ETA: I'm having some health-related issues but I'll be back with the next chapter in a few days!


	12. i'll never let you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _King Of My Heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so lucky that Taylor sang KOMH acoustic at that engagement party... now all the double-song chapters have acoustic versions to go with them!

_is this the end of all the endings?_

_my broken bones are mending_

 

Colorful leaves scrunched under their feet, and the rain drizzled on their umbrella, but besides those and the faraway sounds of traffic, the cemetery was subdued and almost... calm. Other than the leaves and the occasional spurge of flowers, everything was tinted slightly grey: the pathwalk, the headstones, the trees nearby.

Bucky held the umbrella; Steve, a bouquet of white lilies.

Peggy never had a preference in flowers.

They stood in front of her grave after Steve laid the bouquet down.

"I wish you had met her," Steve told Bucky. "You would'a liked her. And she you, too."

And she would've been happy for Steve, he just knew. Even back then she would've. She may have hit Steve over the head for worrying too much, but that was normal.

“She was a rouse, the way I heard,” Bucky said, and he worried the handle of the umbrella with his fingers.

“She was,” Steve said. “A real dame. She always chewed me another one for being too self-sacrificing, too.”

“You mean, stupid,” Bucky said with a knowing spark in his eye.

“...yeah. But she also helped me, always – I wouldn't have become Cap without her.”

“And she also founded SHIELD,” Bucky said. “We wouldn't have met, without her.”

Despite the chill and the rain, warmth spread in Steve at Bucky’s words. He sounded thankful, which Steve wholeheartedly shared — Bucky was easily the best thing to happen to him not only in the 21st century, but in his whole life.

Even if it meant spending 70 years frozen blue, and losing everything in his old life.

And if Bucky felt the same way, despite the Red Room, despite everything he went through… Steve’s head began to spin from the grandiosity of that.

"But I'm not sure I agree," Bucky went on, looking at her headstone. Steve stared at him before he remembered they were talking about Peggy. "I probably would just be jealous of her."

"No you wouldn't, you have no reason to." Steve leaned into Bucky a little despite the open place. Their dark coats would obscure their identities, and even if not, _whatever_ — if a guy can't cry on his friend’s shoulder in front of the grave of his other friend, then fuck society anyway. "You're not the jealous type."

"I am when it comes to you," Bucky grumbled. "And I would be way too awed to speak properly in her presence."

"She would excuse that," Steve said confidently. "You have no idea how many times I put my feet in my mouth around her."

"I can imagine," Bucky said, glancing at him before back at the grave. "I'm sorry you lost her."

Truth be told, Steve had lost her the moment he decided to put the Valkyrie down. When he visited her after he got his wits about him and collected enough courage, she already had Alzheimer's, and while she was still his anchor to the past, she was different. Fighting in multiple wars, founding an intelligence agency, getting married and raising kids, and all in all, living a long and eventful life had changed her, just like life changed everybody, and just like being frozen in ice changed Steve.

A part of him was still sorry they couldn't change together, in similar directions, just as much as he was sorry to be standing at her final resting place.

Some days he still reached for his phone to call her up, to tell her about his day. Some days he went to the Smithsonian to hear her voice, because he was so afraid he would forget it. Some days he picked up the shield and remembered the very first time he held it, and how Peggy fired a whole magazine at him, and he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

But he was not at all sorry to be standing there with Bucky by his side. He reached out to Bucky, and Bucky grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"Thanks for coming with me," he whispered.

"Always," Bucky whispered, and Steve leaned his head on his shoulder.

  


Steve shot up and spent the next twenty seconds re-learning how to breathe.

"Steve?" Bucky asked next to him, and, right, bedroom. Tower. _Safe_.

"Nghhhh," Steve said, and used the edge of the comforter to wipe the sweat off of his forehead.

"Nightmare?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah."

His T-shirt stuck to him uncomfortably, so he pushed the comforter away to pull it off, but then the air felt too cold for his skin. His breaths still came in short, erratic sequences, and he wanted to crawl his brain out.

Bucky rubbed sleepiness out of his eyes, and got up.

"Drink something," he said as he gave Steve a glass of water, then covered him with a large tartan. "Wanna talk?"

"No," Steve said immediately. He pulled the tartan closer on himself — it was a nice, soft material, one of Bucky's trademark red tribal ones. Bucky sat next to him in silence.

It was just a stupid nightmare.

But it felt so real.

Bucky had been in therapy. Sure, so had Steve, but his was nothing more than standard SHIELD checkups to clear him for fieldwork. What little Bucky shared about his, his was more... serious.

Maybe it was time Steve opened up a little, too.

"I dreamt that Peggy died," Steve said slowly. "In the forties. There was a battle, and one of HYDRA's weapons took her out. I couldn't... save her. Then there was a funeral and... it's so stupid. After a HYDRA weapon hits you, there's nothing to put in a coffin. But she had an open casket, and she looked so young, and it's just..."

His lungs refused oxygen, like when he used to have asthma.

Bucky put his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, and Steve leaned his forehead to Bucky's neck.

"And it was so cold, there was frost everywhere," he mumbled. Bucky's hand started making circles on his back. "She said something, I don't remember, and there was snow..."

Like when the plane went down, and Steve still heard her voice in his head, and the arctic water rushed in and froze Steve. He still remembered the piercing stings on his skin, how he burned, how he couldn't breathe.

"You're not there," Bucky told him firmly. "You're not on that plane. You're here, with me, and it's warm because I asked JARVIS to turn up the heating."

Had Steve been talking aloud? "But it was so real..."  

"They always are," Bucky whispered back. "The cold won't get you as long as the Avengers are — or I am — here."

The tears that had been gathering in Steve's eyes overflew at that. He couldn't— he just couldn't stop, and he sobbed into Bucky's neck while Bucky rubbed his back, making sure that Bucky would have to change his top as well.

But he felt... cleaner. Less full, at least, emotionally, when he had no more tears to shed and his sobs dried up to sad little hiccups. The knowledge that Bucky had the exact same types of nightmares of being eaten alive by the cold made it easier to breathe, though he didn't know why.

He usually wasn't able to fall back asleep after a nightmare, and his preferred coping mechanism consisted of going down to the gym to blow off some steam. Talking with Bucky, however, resulted in him drifting into sleep in Bucky's arms in record time, which made him rethink some things the next morning.

 

He didn’t tell Bucky his exact plan, but after making sure that Sam was there, he hopped onto his bike and drove down to DC to catch him at the VA. The almost 5 hours of the journey helped clear his mind and settle his thoughts even before the session itself even started.

He had never thought of himself as a veteran. A veteran was someone who came back from war, which Steve never quite managed to do — but on the other hand, his war had ended in '45. He somehow saw the people at the VA impossibly similar and impossibly different to himself at the same time without actually applying their problems and their solutions to his own life.

"Wow, I haven't seen you here in awhile," Sam remarked when the session ended.

"I'm rethinking my life choices," Steve admitted.

"You don't hear that every day," Sam muttered under his breath. "Do you want to grab a coffee?"

"Sure, why not."

Two giant lattes and the recap of the previous night later they were sitting on a bench, enjoying the rare November sunlight on their faces.

"...so you came all the way here because you’re freaking out because you managed to _feel better_ after something shitty happened?"

"...kinda?"

"Okay," Sam said. "Okay. The fact that you admitted that is a huge thing by itself, I hope you know it."

Steve hummed.

"First step is admitting there is a problem and all that," Sam said. "Especially for you, the king of repression."

"I'm not repressed," Steve grumbled.

"Dude, your main problem is that the media and the public doesn't see you as a person, only as Cap, and you have an ideal to live up to."

Steve hated when Sam was right.

"Which explains a lot of your frustrations and issues, I'm not saying it doesn't, and before you start protesting, I have some security footage of you destroying gym equipment at the Tower that says otherwise."

Steve really, _really_ hated when Sam was right.

"Okay, say we are good with step one. What is step two?"

"If you were anybody else I'd recommend group therapy," Sam ran his fingers on the logo of his paper cup. "But I'm guessing that's outta the question."

"I don't want my problems on the front pages, yeah."

"Then private therapy? Or just sit in on the sessions at the VA — in NYC, because you need someone there who isn’t me. If anybody asks, you are supporting the cause, and since vets are invisible unless you want to use us for some feel-good PR, nobody will look at this twice."

That sounded plausible.

"I'll think about that."

"And hey, if talking with your boy helps... then keep doing that."

Steve grinned at him and how output he looked at his own advice.

Still, spending the day with Sam before riding up North was soothing after his horrible night, and he could think about Sam’s advice on the way home — and come to the conclusion that it was worth a try, at the very least.

 

Of course the ragtags backed Steve's stance about group therapy after his third visit to the local VA, because he lead the headlines with his "surprising appearance." Half of them claimed he had a sweetheart there, and half stated that he wanted to show some support for his fellow Avenger, the Falcon, even from a state over.

"You still have a lot to learn about being incognito," Bucky said skeptically as he read the link over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, although he did forego the sunglasses and the cap — that would just stand out more in November — but apparently he wasn’t doing the dark brown hoodie right, either.

Bucky considered him. "I could give you another lesson."

"Oh yeah? And what's the price for your lesson, oh marvelous teacher?"

Bucky ran his eyes over Steve's body, slowly, mapping out every detail with care. Steve swallowed and shifted — his pants were suddenly getting uncomfortable.

"I have a few ideas," Bucky said lewdly, then sobered up. "That we should discuss while there's some blood left in our upper brains."

"I'm listening."

"Well, you seemed to be... enjoying... rough."

So much for having brain left up there, because Steve was pretty sure that all of his have departed to his nether regions.

"I was," he said, and yup, no way Bucky didn't recognize his immediate response.

"And you don't," Bucky started, and Steve's head cleared when he realized that Bucky was... not only embarrassed, but almost _frightened._ Hair obscured his features, and he worried his metal fingers without meeting Steve's eye.

"I don't what?" Steve prompted.

Bucky brushed the hair out of his face and huffed. "Mind being touched by this?" he lifted his left hand.

"No?" Was that a trick question? Hadn't they established that before?

"Even after you've read the file?"

"Especially after I've read the file," Steve said. "I thought we've been through this and I've made it clear that I don't think you’re a bad person for literally being tortured and brainwashed?"

"Well _sorry_ for requiring some positive reinforcement every once in a while," Bucky huffed again.

Shame burned Steve's face. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know," Bucky waved. "You are just remarkable at putting your foot in your mouth."

"Told you you’d have gotten on well with Pegs," Steve said, still in a small voice.

"So what I was trying to get at," Bucky steered the conversation back on track without taking the time to make fun of Steve, which Steve greatly appreciated, "is that you wouldn't mind if I fucked you and held you down with my metal arm?"

"You've hold me down before," Steve said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Your arms, not _you_."

Steve's brain must have short-circuited because all he could do was stare at Bucky with uncomprehending eyes. Bucky just rolled his eyes with a long suffering sigh again, then he walked up to Steve and places his left hand squarely at Steve's chest, right below his throat.

Okay. Okay.

Come to think about it, the position _was_ intimidating. Bucky wasn't really putting pressure into the gesture, but Steve had experienced what that arm was capable of. The room became very hot at the thought of Bucky holding him down, because he absolutely _could_ , especially if Steve wasn't protesting.

Oh boy, was he not protesting.

"So you wouldn't mind," Bucky repeated, and Steve stared into his unprecedented blue eyes without having anything intelligent to say. His only consolidation was that Bucky was just as taken aback by his reaction as he was.

"This does it for you?" he asked, but kindly. With wonder, instead of mockery, and Steve's heart melted.

Steve swallowed twice and cleared his throat before he was able to speak.

"I was a sickly kid," he said. "I fell over if someone shook my hand too fiercely. I love that... I can take... what you're willing to give me."

"Shit, Steve," a strangle light was shining in Bucky's eyes.

"I love that you aren't afraid of breaking me," Steve whispered.

"You can't just say things like that," Bucky whispered back.

"It's true."

"I love that you aren't afraid that I would break you," Bucky said.

"I like rough, I can take rough," Steve said. " _Please_ be rough."

Bucky surged in and kissed him hard enough to bruise, and Steve wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Then Bucky bore down with his metal hand and Steve backed up, allowing to be maneuvered into the bedroom.

Bucky let go of him long enough to make sure Amanda wasn't in the room, then he closed the door and when he turned back to Steve, he had a predatory expression on his face.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered.

Steve scrambled to obey, almost falling off of his feet, and he hissed when his hardening erection sprung free of his boxers. His socks were still on when Bucky clashed into him, once again using his left hand, and pushed him down onto the mattress on the floor.

Steve felt impossibly vulnerable as he lay on his back, legs spread out, Bucky straddling him and pinning him at his collarbone. His breaths came heavy, but Bucky wasn't obscuring his airways, not like when he used to have asthma. He just made sure that Steve knew that Bucky could break his ribs, break his chest cave and tear his heart out, if he wished.

But he wouldn't, and that knowledge aroused Steve more than anything else.

Bucky leaned in closer, putting most of his weight onto his metal arm.

"If you want me to stop," he began, but Steve interrupted him.

"Please don't stop," he begged.

"If you want me to stop," Bucky repeated, "say ‘Texas’ and I'll stop."

"Why Texas?"

"Because I can't think of something less arousing," Bucky said.

Steve was so occupied with his left hand and his blue eyes that he didn't even notice that Bucky was also stark naked, and very ready for some action.

Steve would've asked if he would go faster at saying ‘New York’, but the hand on his chest occupied most of his thoughts, and he was more interested in the other hand looking for lube to be distracted by American cities.

"Look at you holding still so beautifully," Bucky said, and teased Steve's hole with a wet finger. Steve opened his legs wider. "From just one hand."

He pushed the finger in in one go, and it didn't hurt, but it was sudden. Steve keened.

"And making all those wonderful noises for me," Bucky went on, and the finger went in and out fast. Steve instinctively arched up, but Bucky was holding him down, and he saw stars from the double sensation.

"Nuh-uh, stay, baby."

Steve wanted to say something witty, but his mind had better things to do than to make coherent sentences.

Then Bucky spread lube over his cock and lined himself up.

"Remember Texas?" he asked.

"Fuck me, just fuck me ple-AH!"

He took his time, going inch by inch, and Steve burned all the way even though he was much looser than at the beginning of their relationship. Everything was just so indescribably intense because he _couldn't move_. Bucky dictated everything: the pace, the position, even the rhythm of Steve's breaths, although that was probably more psychological than psychical.

"You alright, baby?" he asked when he was all in.

Steve nodded, breaths coming in short puffs. He had never felt more full. More grounded.

"Ready for more?"

All Steve could do was nod again, curtly.

Bucky drove out, then back in with less than all his might, Steve still had enough brain cells to note that, but it felt more than ever.  

His mind couldn't get away from the fact that he was pinned down and that Bucky wasn't afraid to give him what he needed, and cold metal burned into his skin, and he couldn't even lift a finger, let alone a hand to touch Bucky. Or himself.

And Bucky stared into his eyes through the movements, and Steve felt enhanced as he sunk deeper and deeper, and each thrust of Bucky's _whole body_ sent Steve higher up on the mattress.

When Bucky hit his prostate, Steve began to float, his only focal points remaining Bucky filling him and his hand holding him down.

"Come on, baby, come for me," Bucky coaxed, and a drained sob broke out of Steve as he came all over himself without being touched.

His mind was nothing but pure, white bliss.

"You are so amazing," Bucky grunted, and he lost his rhythm as he got close to the edge, and Steve never wanted this experience to end, for Bucky to get off of him, to leave...

Bucky came with a yell at one particularly vigorous trust, stilled, then fell down onto Steve.

“You okay?” he asked, and pushed hair out of his face. And Steve’s too.

Steve couldn’t really speak, so he just nodded.

Bucky pulled out, and lifted his hand from Steve’s chest. The metal plates had left angry red marks, and Steve wanted to encast them in gold and wear them as a necklace.

His brain was probably broken, though.

Apparently Bucky wanted him to get up, which Steve completely missed when he was busy admiring Bucky’s marks, because then Bucky leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“Okay, plan B: stay here, I’ll be back in a second.”

Steve wanted to get up, to clean up properly — now he suddenly felt cold, and kind of gross, too, in drying sweat and come, but his limbs must have given up, just like his brain. Before he could properly panic at Bucky’s absence, he was back with a glass of orange juice, which he gave to Steve, and a warm wet blanket, which he cleaned Steve with.

“Stay,” Steve whispered when Bucky got up again.

“I am, baby,” Bucky said, and true to his words, a heartbeat later he climbed next to Steve and pulled the comforter over them. He curled up to Steve’s back and Steve grabbed his hand with what little energy he had.

“You were incredible for me,” Bucky whispered into his ear. “You were so wonderful, you were _everything_.”

The tension that somehow found its way into the afterglow — at the irrational fear that Bucky would leave — evaporated.

“You are the best person I know,” Bucky kissed his shoulder and Steve nuzzled into his embrace more. “You make me feel things I didn’t even know were possible.”

Bucky kept kissing him and whispering the sweetest thing to him, and Steve slowly drifted to sleep in the absolute, golden comfort and safety of his arms.

 

 

 

> _AVENGERS HANDLER STILL NOT CLEARED FOR FIELD DUTY — SHIELD says it’s not because of her sexuality, but then why?_
> 
> _WINTER SOLDIER VOTED AS “LAST TO TRUST YOUR DAUGHTER WITH” BY OUR READERS_
> 
> _CAPTAIN AMERICA’S GIRLFRIEND? — Eyewitnesses claim he was especially touched by a female vet’s story at the VA_

Steve put his phone down, but he couldn't really sit still: something inside him screamed for action. He got up to get some coffee, looking down to where he was stepping to avoid treading on Amanda — even in his own apartment.

He wanted some fresh air too, a nice walk to help him think, so he pulled on Bucky's oversized orange hoodie and changed into denims, then he headed to the nearest café.

Steve wanted Bucky. That was a fact, now. Not for his bad rep and not for his good looks, but because he was _Bucky_. Because Steve loved drawing while Bucky was reading on the couch. Because they could both wake up from nightmares and cry without being ashamed or having to hide it. Because Bucky had an amazing dry sense of humor and an endearingly shy smile and he was never afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

Steve wanted Bucky in his life, period.

The realization hit him somewhat hard even though he saw it coming —  it was the crystallization of what he had felt in the cemetery, except with the focus on the future instead of the past.

He plopped down to a bench in the park heavily, almost splashing his coffee onto himself.

But it still wouldn’t be fair to Bucky to put him through the wringer, which would happen if they went open.

And Steve wanted to come out, to shout to the world that he found someone so incredible, to share his pride and his joy with everybody, to shout it from the rooftops... but Bucky would pay for it. Both of them would.

However, the idea of living in the closet forever, to not be able to hold hands or kiss just because someone might see them; to have to keep everything in their bedrooms when _gay marriage was legal_...

The too hot coffee burnt his tongue as he drank angrily.

He almost texted Sam to vent to him, then he realized he had someone much more appropriate to talk to about this: Bucky himself.

_Hey, dinner tonight?_

_I_ literally _got a new mission, like, ten seconds ago. Raincheck?_

Steve's heart fell and his anxiety levels spiked up, and he suddenly had a great sympathy for Peggy: she had always worried for him during the war, and he had always brushed it off. Now he felt what watching someone run towards danger was like, especially since Bucky got beaten up during that mission against the lizards.

_Sure, take care. Is it bad?_

He had to wait a few minutes for an answer; presumably Bucky grabbed his things and answered the text from the back of the Quinjet sent to pick him up.

_Just some bulldozer-type baddie trying to wreck a bank. I have the STRIKE team as backup, don't fret._

Like hell he wasn't,  but he literally couldn't do anything better, either.

_Gotta go, talk later!_

_I love you_ ** _,_ **Steve sent him, but he got no response.

 

Bucky had given Steve a set of keys to his flat; an act that made Steve feel like the heroine of a romance novel, all ready to swoon at any sign of affection. Yet he also knew that from Bucky, it wasn’t just any kind of affection: it was the sharing of his incredibly private place and his past, too, as well as the trust he put on Steve by allowing him access to Amanda and Kimoyo.

But the STRIKE team and Quinjet meant that Bucky was more likely to be transported back to the Tower after the mission was over, where he could take a shower, get clean clothes and medical attention if needed, so Steve decided to head there too.

He looked up at the huge, futuristic building from the exit of Grand Central — it was so 21st century and so incredibly Tony, unlike anything else Steve had ever seen.

Tony always joked that it was his building, despite the fact that it had the Avengers' logo on it, now, and despite Pepper's insistence that since she was the CEO of Stark Industries, it was all hers now.

If someone had gotten almost as much bad press as Bucky, or Natasha, or _Sharon_ , it had been Pepper. She used to be Tony's secretary, then he gave her the company, then she became his girlfriend, and _everybody_ had opinions about that, and usually not very flattering ones. And yet she handled herself masterfully, and came out on top, and now nobody could call her worthless or just a pretty face without being called out on the bullshit.

When Steve stepped into the private elevators, he found himself asking JARVIS instead of pressing the button for his suite.

"JARVIS, is Miss Potts available now?"

There was a moment of pause. "She will have a break in half an hour, and she said she'd be happy if you joined her, Captain."

"Thanks, JARVIS."

 

The view from Pepper's office took Steve's breath away every time: New York was especially beautiful from this angle with the old buildings right next to the new ones, all of them arching up towards the sky. He vowed not to forget to paint it again, but he had more pressing matters at the moment.

"Steve, how can I help you?" Pepper asked him and stood from behind her desk. She looked sharp in her business suit, not a hair out of place, and the smile she sent Steve was honest and open.

"Thanks for having me. Are you sure I'm not bothering now?"

"Of course not. I can have my coffee break whenever I want; I think the company can afford that."

She offered him some from the machine, and Steve accepted it despite his earlier coffee run.

"Is everything okay? You look rustled."

"I'm fine," Steve said; a decades old, knee-jerk response. Then he sighed internally. He was trying to get better — open up, let people in. "I wanted to talk to Bucky about something, but he's on a mission."

"JARVIS?" she asked the ceiling.

"The Winter Soldier and his supporting STRIKE team have the supervillain named Bulldozer cornered at a standstill. The Winter Soldier suffered minor injuries but he assures there's no need for medical assistance. Everything appears to be under control."

"Oh, good," she said, and sat down to the couch heavily. "I know how hard it is when Tony goes out, and I can imagine how you feel."

Steve nodded his thanks and sat down next to her.

"And what did you want to talk to him about, but ended up with me?"

Steve appreciated how straight to the point and smart she was. He preferred that to dwelling on the many ways of how Bucky could get hurt, anyway.

"I'm thinking about my options of coming out," Steve said in one breath.

She stared at him for a moment before a smile broke out on her face. "Steve, that's great news!"

"Is it?"

"Of course! It means you want to be more open about who you are, which is a healthy thing to do."

She sounded a lot like Sam, and she looked like she would've hugged him, had they not had their coffees to joggle.

"But that also means you have to be ready for a certain level of backlash."

Steve nodded. "Especially against Bucky, and I'd like to minimize that. And I thought that you... you went through a lot with the media, with Iron Man and becoming the CEO and dating Tony, and..." he wanted to rub his neck, unsure about how to phrase this.

"I'm not a media relations expert," she said, "but I have some ideas, yes."

"Oh good," Steve sighed, and she smiled again, squeezing his hand. “I’m all ears.”

"I'm really happy for the two of you, you know. Now let's see... JARVIS, please pull up the first page of Google searches for "Captain America"."

The screen on the wall lit up with the result of the search: on the top row were three articles, two of them about Steve at the VA, and one detailing the aftermath of a recent fight with Bullseye. Below that, the official Avengers site, his Twitter account, a Wikipedia article.

"Now search for Steve Rogers."

The matches were exactly the same, except for the articles: instead of the American Telegraph it was Buzzfeed; instead of CNN, it was the Daily Bugle.

"You have Twitter and no other social media, right?"

"Yeah."

JARVIS displayed his account: boring tweets from @officialcaprogers, hailing clean-up efforts after a battle or saying he will be at a press conference.

Pepper pursed her lips. "I see the problem. Or, well, some of it anyway."

"And what's that?"

"What you've been complaining about all along: that you're invisible. There's no Steve Rogers in the public eye, only Captain America. JARVIS, let us know if you find a fan club for Steve on any social media site, please."

"Yeah, but I've been trying to change that," Steve said, ignoring the "fan club" part for now. "Nobody hears what I say, only what they expect to hear."

"Yes, but where are you saying it, exactly?" Pepper asked. She put her mug down and gestured at the screen, oddly reminding Steve of Tony with his enthusiastic wailing. "In interviews and press releases?"

"Well, yes. Where else?"

"But the thing is, then those will be cut into small pieces and rearranged for short videos and abrasive headlines. Only a few people will go after the original material, most will just eat what's presented to them, whether that's biased or loyal to the original — your words. So if you want to actually let your voice be heard, you need to cut out the middleman."

"I have found a few forums," JARVIS interjected, and indeed. There were posts analyzing his every statement, historical aspects, underlying implications, who seemed to be coming to the conclusions Steve wanted them to come to.

There was a post detailing how bad he was at following the rules (the author expressed their approval for this), one drawing attention how boring the questions were that he got in post-mission interviews, one that was generally angry for how all the Avengers were jammed into their boxes, and Tony always was asked about his playboy habits while Nat always had stuff about her make-up or diet.

"Yes," Pepper said triumphantly. "I knew it. See, there are the people you should start with!"

Steve just blinked at her. "Talk to them, you mean?"

"Well, not directly. But it was like this with Tony: a lot of people were really upset, because they felt betrayed as Tony didn't act the way they perceived he should. But there were fans out there who really listened to him, and followed him, and eventually that small group of people grew and became loud enough to take over from the, well, haters."

Steve stared at the screen again. The more he read, the more he agreed with their observations — why couldn't more people be like that and actually _listen_ when somebody was talking?

"So I should build a new... fanbase," Steve summarized.

"Some of your old followers will stick around too," Pepper said. "But this is going to be a huge change. Don't do anything radical just yet, I'll get my people to help you out. Captain America being..." she glanced at him apologetically.

"Bisexual," Steve helped her out.

"Bisexual," she said, "is going to turn a lot of conservatives off. Even without adding the Winter Soldier into it. That's why my advice is to start small: build a community out of people like that," she waved at the screen, "who, small as they are, already listen to you and like you for who you are. You can draw more people in who are like that, who will stick with you through the worst, and outshout the homophobes."

"By cutting out the middleman," Steve realized.

"And showing them Steve Rogers instead of Captain America," Pepper nodded.

 

While Steve put on the news in the background to see how things were going with Bulldozer, he followed Pepper's research with his own, and agreed with her even more by the end of the day. Neither he nor Bucky had personal spaces online, only what was associated with the Avengers. No wonder most people only saw them as props when they didn’t have anything better to base their opinions on.

He would never win over the ragtags, or the folks only interested in scandals, but if he could build a reliable circle to mute the backlash...

He set out to create a public _private_ image for himself.

Well, he had used Twitter under a fake alias for a while, so at least the change wouldn't be so jarring.

He now made a new email address to go with his new Twitter handle, @realsteverogers, then decided against agonizing over his profile pic, and just quickly snapped a selfie of himself in front of his beige wall.

He gave more thought to his first actual post. He browsed the other Avengers' accounts for ideas, and liked a few — Bruce's tweet of a timeline of scientific achievements, Tony's close-up of a molecule he discovered, Pepper's signal boost of a kickstarter campaign. He ended up retweeting one of Wanda's old posts: a few lines from _Hamilton_ mentioning the usefulness of immigrants.

He barely put the phone down when it began vibrating, and when he answered, he explained the whole ordeal to Sam, too, who supported him readily.

 

The door banged open without warning, and Steve jumped.

"Bucky?" he stood, and it _was_ Bucky: sweating profusely, almost tearing his black vest off while also trying to toe out of his absolutely wrecked boots.

"You can't just do things like that," Bucky accused, pushing hair out of his face. "I come back after hours of battling some evil idot to _this_..."

"It was just some Hamilton lyrics," Steve defended himself. He got over ten thousand followers in an hour. "My parents were born in Ireland, too, and Pepper said it's a good idea to—"

"What?" Bucky finally got rid of the boots, which now stuck to the mat nastily. "I meant your message!"

He stood in front of Steve, chest heaving, covered in dirt and grime and smelling under the soaked leather, and somehow still being the most attractive thing Steve'd ever seen.

But Steve had to wind back several hours to understand what Bucky meant.

_I love you._

"Oh, I mean..."

"Did you mean it?" Bucky whispered.

Steve hadn't even thought about it consciously, it was just so natural, so... right, to say it.

"Yes."

Bucky jumped at him at that, staggering Steve back, and kissed him in a way that told Steve that sometimes, not over-analyzing everything was good.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the well-wishes, everybody; I had an operation a month ago and my fever spiked this week and I was in excruciating pain, but all should be okay now. The pain lingers, and also my grandpa's health is deteriorating, so editing isn't the easiest, but I'll get this thing finished and updated soon.
> 
>  
> 
> The thing with the Tower being Pepper's is from Halbereth's amazing [Heroes are easy, people are hard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178165), which you should all go and read right now! 


	13. they took the crown, but it's all right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Call It What You Want_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE WARNINGS in the chapter end notes!

_ and i know i make the same mistakes every time  _

_ bridges burn, i never learn, at least i did one thing right  _

_ i did one thing right _

 

November gifted them with one last warm weekend, waking them up with bright sunlight that brought out the vibrant colors of the falling tree leaves, and even made the grey streets glow. Steve's first thought of the day was that it would be perfect to go out, sit on a bench and try to capture the beauty of nature with a pencil, then huddle up in a small restaurant for a good meal. Even after coffee the idea lingered, then morphed into a sudden plan.

"Hey, Bucky," he grabbed Bucky's waist at the counter. "Wanna go for a ride with me?"

"What? When," Bucky, definitely not a Morning Person, grumbled.

"After breakfast," Steve said. "Somewhere Upstate. Just you and me and the bike."

Bucky downed all his coffee in one go. "You serious?" he asked.

"I don't want to waste the last Autumn Sun inside," Steve shrugged, and what he meant was that he didn't want to spend it without Bucky, either.

Bucky blinked at him for some time, and yeah, the Steve of a few months ago wouldn't have suggested something so sudden and random.

"You have anything specific in mind?"

Steve shook his head. "We can always look something up online, though."

The smile lines around Bucky's eyes were just the sweetest thing, Steve noted. Maybe he'd sketch that later too.

"Let me wake up properly," Bucky said and poured himself another cup of coffee.

Some time later, now dressed in warm layers and full of two cups of ineffective coffee, Bucky suggested asking Nat instead of Google for a possible destination.

"She doesn't do vacations in _Upstate New York_ ," Steve protested.

"Fine, then ask Sam."

"He'll love that you said that," Steve said, but Bucky was right: Sam knew of a tiny place near Catskills where the burgers were apparently to die for, although Bucky checked the place online too, just to make sure Sam wasn't pulling a prank.

"He wouldn't do that," Steve muttered.

"How sure are you?" Bucky asked back.

"...okay, not very. But he promised to only call us if it's the end of the world, so there."

"Great, because it's about three hours just to get there — Steve, are you sure?"

"About what?" Steve was just making sure he had everything: wallet, phone, a bottle of water and some protein bars in a backpack, just in case.

"We'll be traveling six hours for a restaurant," Bucky said in a small voice. "It just... seems excessive."

"I thought we’d agreed that riding isn’t about being fancy."

"You _remember that_?"

"Yeah, and it isn’t about the destination either. I really don't care about what restaurant we're going to — I just want to be on the road while the weather is nice, and then have a walk with you somewhere pretty. The destination is just an alibi."

Bucky huffed. "You are a giant dope, Rogers, I hope you know that."

Steve also pocketed his sketchbook and his pencils. "Am I incognito enough?" he asked.

Jeans again, his beige sweater and a brown leather jacket, but no sunglasses or caps, because he could blend in. He _could_.

"Could be worse," Bucky said. "Okay, let's do this."

 

They stopped at Bed-Stuy first, to check up on Amanda and Kimoyo, and to grab Bucky's helmet — Steve insisted on them both wearing them, despite the fact that they would do nothing against the things that could actually hurt them. And then it was the wind in their faces and the road under the tires as they headed North — and Bucky's steady arms around Steve's waist.

Which was half the reason Steve was eager to get on the bike, and half the reason he dreaded it.

Harleys weren't really made for two, but Steve's was more of a Stark design than a Harley-Davidson, and Bucky was snuggled up to Steve tightly, following his every movement, leaning into the turns just the right amount. Even through layers of fabric it was an intimate, private thing between them, and soon Steve relaxed into having Bucky at his six — because if not him, who else? Who better?

The exhaust of the V2 engine was like a purr, a sound Steve had fallen in love with in the thirties, and his heart took on the rhythm of the vibrations. He zigzagged around the cars on the highway, keeping a reasonable speed just over the limit, and if anybody had asked him what freedom felt like, he would say _this_. His lover by his side, the road running under the tires, his worries at home. He was just Steve now, just an idiot in love, enjoying the golden sunlight and the view of the untamed wild.

Whatever mistakes he had made, he cherished every decision that led them here.

They only stopped once to stretch their legs, and Bucky snapped a goofy picture of Steve that he proclaimed would be nice as a new background, and then to North it was again.

The weather was just above bearable on a bike, especially with the use of seat heating and the cover of their bodies together. Still, when they pulled up where Steve's phone told him to, up a mountainside in the Catskills area, he wished he had bought a warm scarf just like Bucky.

Although probably not in that bright coral color.

"This is as far as we can ride," Steve said, shaking his legs out. "It's a forty minutes hike through that path to our goal."

Even close to the main roads, the silence of the area was astounding after the constant noise of the city. The wind blew gently up where they were, and Steve kept his jacket's zipper up and his gloves on, but the forest they weaved through was absolutely worth the chill.

Most people they passed came with backpacks and heavy hiking gear: out for a whole day, probably. They waved at Bucky and Steve just like they waved at everybody else, and Bucky petted the friendly dogs eagerly.

"You drive well," Bucky said, a few minutes into their path.

"You're a good passenger," Steve replied.

"You especially drive well compared to your age," Bucky grinned. "Did they give driving lessons in boot camp?"

Steve considered whether telling Bucky the truth would be worth it. "They didn't give me driving lessons anywhere," he admitted, then stifled a laugh when Bucky almost tripped over a piece of rock in surprise.

"What!"

"I learned in the European Theater, after a while," Steve said. "Had to. Came in handy a few times, and by that I mean that I drove a tank before I drove an actual car. I just sort of picked it up from the Howlies."

And man, wasn't that fun.

"Do you mean to tell me you don't have a driver's licence?" Bucky asked, just a hair's breadth away from sputtering.

"Of course I do! SHIELD issued me one automatically with all my other papers. I have a hunch they didn't really check if I used to have one."

Bucky stopped to stare at him properly. "I... I don't even know what to say."

"You said I drive well," Steve reminded him.

"Yeah, but now I'm adding _despite the circumstance_ ," Bucky said exasperatedly. "And you did get into a pissy fit with that trucker."

"She cut me off!" Steve protested. "That doesn't count."

"It so does," Bucky said, and they ended up winded from constantly bickering and laughing by the time they got to Sam's recommendation.

On the bottom of a valley was a town that could've been copy-pasted right from the civil war era, except for the signs offering a multitude of tourist merchandise and "original countryside experiences." The diner Sam's directions led to only had a painting of a pile of pancakes on its plaque, though, and red-chequered tablecloth on the small tables.

The food was exceptionally good, too: the burger buns freshly made, the meat thick and juicy, the sauces rich and tasty — although Steve suspected that he could've been eating cardboard happily as long as he listened to Bucky's recount of his favorite moments from _Star Trek_ in great detail, even though Steve hadn't even seen the original series.

For dessert they chose the pancakes, and if the staff put their looks together with their superhuman ability to pack away huge quantities at once, they didn't say anything. Not even when Bucky asked the waiter for the recipe, claiming he never once managed so soft and sweet with this kind of texture before, and so with the invoice they also got a few notes scribbled on a post-it, courtesy of the chef, which Bucky tucked away reverently into his pocket.

The late afternoon was turning chilly as they hiked back to the bike, but the downing Sun's glow matched Steve's own feelings with the golden light everywhere. Bucky even slipped his gloved hand into Steve's for a moment in a particularly deserted area.

"It was worth a ride," he said. "All of it."

Steve grinned at him. "I'm a master tactician."

"Full of yourself is what you are," Bucky said, but squeezed his hand to show he was joking. "Hey, Captain Master Tactician, what's your plan for tonight?"

"Why don't you show me a movie you like," Steve said. "A good one, and we'll make hot chocolate and curl up together."

"I have an idea," Bucky said immediately. "It's great for fall, you'll love it."

"I will," Steve agreed, because Bucky was spot on when it came to Steve and movies.

Bucky stopped periodically to admire the scenery, and Steve couldn't help but do the same with Bucky. Then Bucky turned to him suddenly, a red leaf held in his palm.

"It's shaped like a heart," he said.

It was, but not by nature: it must've been torn as it fell, or on the ground by the boots of hikers.

Steve took it gently. "I... thank you," he said, and by God, he was blushing. Which was ridiculous. To mask it, he snapped a picture of the leaf and posted it to his Twitter with the caption "nature is beautiful", ignoring the thousands of notifications — his previous three posts have been popular as well. And then he couldn't just leave the leaf there after all, so he put it into his wallet, and Bucky looked at him sappily.

"Take me home safe?" he asked when they got to the Harley, and threw the keys at Bucky who caught them reflexively.

Bucky blinked in surprise, then grinned. "Anytime."

He squeezed Steve's hand when put his arms around his waist on the bike, and then revved the engine and shot out of the parking lot.

His driving style was, Steve had to admit, less aggressive than Steve's own, but faster, and maybe Steve shouldn't have felt so safe with him. With an ex-assassin, an A-class sharpshooter, going a good few miles over the limit, and yet Steve felt absolutely invincible as he held onto him — not for dear life, but because he _wanted_ to.

The Sun was down by the time they got back to the city, and Steve was entertaining the idea of a joint hot shower to warm them up properly when both their phones went off. Steve checked his at a red light: a message from Nat, asking for a call back.

Bucky's phone said the same.

That would've been ominous from anybody else, let alone her.

Steve dialed her, relying on the headset built into his helmet.

"Come to the Tower, don't go home and don't talk to anybody," she said in a flat, utterly emotionless voice. The warm buzz in Steve's stomach was replaced by icy fear, and Nat hang up before he could ask any more questions.

"Straight to the Tower," Steve told Bucky, and Bucky just nodded and drove.

The hours of their trip flew by compared to the agonizing crawl of the Midtown traffic jam, and Bucky tensed up too — probably because Steve couldn't keep his touch light.

"Did she say what was up?" Bucky asked as they finally parked and went for the elevator.

"No. But whatever it is, it sounded bad."

Nat, Tony, Pepper, and Sam were on the living room of the Avengers, but what grabbed Steve's attention was the huge TV screen on the wall.

Instead of aliens attacking or the death of someone they loved, the line under an anchor announcing something about the football match of the century read _STILL NO COMMENT ABOUT REVEALING PHOTOS OF THE WINTER SOLDIER_ , and then, _THE WINTER SOLDIER REVEALED TO BE GAY?_

"What the fuck," Steve breathed.

Tony said something, but Steve's attention was on Bucky.

Bucky’s body was still, but his face slowly transformed as he got his mask back up; the one Steve had seen him wear in the Gala, and in public outings, but never in private. It served as a stark reminder on how much he had to sacrifice of himself to please the public.

"We didn't want you to find out from the news," Pepper said apologetically.

Steve looked at the room; he hadn't realized that they turned off the TV and were now staring at them.

“What happened?” he asked after a long pause. Bucky was still staring at the blank screen.

“Someone leaked photos of James in a gay bar,” Sam said.

“Steve?” Bucky asked.

It required no further explanation what he meant.

“No, only of you,” Pepper said. “They seem to have been taken before you two even met.”

Steve felt little relief at that, but Bucky’s shoulders sagged visibly.

"You're all here because of this?" he asked.

Nat and Sam were sitting on the couch, and when Sam wanted to get up, Nat pulled him back.

"The whole team wanted to come," Nat said. She sat with her legs crossed and she looked especially pissed. "We thought it would be enough to tell you in their name that the world can fuck it."

Bucky exhaled audibly, and some of the tension had left him in the form of his mask slipping off, but it still wasn’t his jovial expression Steve saw all day during their trip.

 _God._ It's like weeks had passed since their outing.

Pepper ushered them into chairs until they were sitting in a lopsided circle, except for Tony, who was, of course, too energetic to stay still.

"What are our options?" Steve asked.

"That is up to James," Pepper said.

Steve wanted to reach out to Bucky, to hug him or hold him, but Bucky was practically projecting his _don't touch me_ vibes.

"I don't know what to do," said.

"You have a few options, and I want to make sure that whichever you choose, the Avengers will support you. So, firstly — you can deny the implications and say you went to that bar for a mission."

Bucky rubbed his forehead.

"What if I don't want to do that?"

"You can admit that you are..."

"Pansexual," Bucky said. "Not gay, like they'd said."

"Bi may be easier for the public to understand," Pepper said gently.

"But I am _not bisexual_ ," Bucky gritted.

"I _know,_ and I understand; I'm just giving you the information to make the best decision with," Pepper placated. "You can also just say that your private life is yours and you'd like for everybody to mind their business, which..."

"...is as good as an admission," Sam finished. "Unless you keep it very strict that you never, ever discuss your personal life openly. And I'm talking _religiously_ strict here."

Bucky looked at Steve before he shook his head. "No. I don't think I could do that."

Steve's heart leapt at that, and began beating hard.

He wished he had something, _anything_ to offer.

"You can also just ignore everything — hey, I might do something very stupid to distract the idiots out there..." Tony offered. "God knows I haven't in a long time, anyway. Going to be fun!"

"I hate to admit it but that could work," Pepper said with a deep-suffering sigh.

"The ignoring part as well?" Nat asked.

"Maybe. James isn't the highest profile Avenger, after all; reporters don't hound him like Tony."

"Nobody can be as high profile as Tony," Sam muttered.

Tony curtsied.

"I'm advising you to sleep on it, but you have to know that the longer we wait, the harder it'll be to get our narrative accepted," Pepper said apologetically.

Bucky stared at his own knees for a while.

"Then again, we waited this long already, so some time to think wouldn't hurt," Sam said.

"Huh?"

"The story hit the news around noon. We figured you couldn't do anything about it, and there was no point rushing you home," Nat explained.

"Which I was against, because that took away _your_ agency in the matter," Sam told Bucky. "Which is exactly what whoever posting the pictures did."

"Yeah, because them speeding home to make a 3-hour journey in 1 was a better option," Nat said and rolled her eyes.

"...thank you," Bucky said, and even sent a small smile their way.

Which reminded Steve of something. "Do have any idea who could've leaked the photos? Did you recognize anyone at that party, or..."

"Yeah," Bucky said.

Everybody froze.

"And?" Steve straightened in his seat.

"I ain't telling you that," Bucky leaned back.

"What?!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," Bucky huffed.

"But I could destroy them!" Tony said.

"Which is exactly why you won't hear it from me," Bucky said. "As Sam said. Don't take away my agency."

"But..."

"Why are you protecting that asshole?"

"Enough," Bucky said firmly, and the exclamations died down.

Steve wanted to argue, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t budge in front of the others. He filed the problem away for later and looked at their small circle: Pepper, with her impeccable dress suit and high heels. Sam, frowning at the world in general. Nat, unreadable but tense. Tony, bouncing on his heels from the frustration they all felt.

It warmed his heart that they would all go through fire for Bucky.

Bucky, steady as a rock, even now.

"All in all, Steve could help," Pepper spoke up. All eyes turned to her. "Whatever you decide, James, an accepting speech from Cap will ease the situation."

"What if the "mind your own business" part came from him?" Sam asked. "Like, if all comment on the situation would be Cap saying that the Avengers have their right for privacy and that should be respected."

Pepper considered her answer. "Cap may pull something like that off, yes."

"I don't want to put this on you," Bucky told Steve.

"It's the truth, though: you have the right for privacy, and I'd gladly repeat that until everybody got the memo," Steve said.

"You could focus on the tone of the reactions and hold them accountable for basic human decency," Pepper said.

"You really think it would work?"

"From someone like Steve? Yes."

"...no pressure," Tony said.

But this was the kind of pressure Steve could bear. Just like in the war, when he was telling people something he firmly believed in wasn't a chore, and based on the general consensus, he was damn effective.

And for Bucky he would do much, much more.

"Okay, our PR team will help you construct a speech," Pepper said.

"And, Pep, dearest, light of my life — am I allowed to do something scandalous?"

Pepper closed her eyes for a long moment.

"Yes, fine, yes."

" _Thank_ _you!"_

 

Steve's speech was rather short and simple, but they felt that would serve their purpose well. By evening it was on both his official and private Twitters, and from then on, quoted everywhere while people overanalyzed it and drew their conclusions.

Bucky didn't say much, just requested they go to his suite and not Steve's. Steve thought he'd bake, but Bucky didn't, just sat on the couch heavily and stared into nothing.

Steve had seen him closed off before, with a mask on for the world, but this was worse. He didn't know how to react, what to do— how to promise that everything will be alright.

It would've been easier if he himself believed it.

He desperately wished to break the nose of whoever did this to Bucky.

"Would you tell _me_ who it was?" Steve asked him, after a long stretch of silence in the living room.

"No."

"But maybe—"

"Steve, for the last time, drop it. I don't want to talk about it," Bucky's eyes flashed in the dim lights.

"Okay, what _do_ you want?" Steve relaxed his stance consciously.

"A time machine," Bucky grumbled.

"Maybe Tony could help you with that, but not me," Steve said softly.

"Climbing into a block of ice for half a century also sounds nice," Bucky said.

Steve felt his mood darken. "That... wouldn't solve your problems, trust me."

Bucky sighed. "I know. But maybe for five years or something..."

"I can think of two ways to help you get out of your head, but neither seems right for now," Steve said.

"Sparring and sex?"

"Yeah."

"No, I'm... not in the mood for either. I just..." Bucky finally moved slightly and looked up at Steve. His eyes were old and sad, like a man who's been tortured to hell and back. Like a man he normally _wasn't._ Then he shook himself and changed where his sentence was going. "I don't want to _lie_."

Question marks must have been written all over Steve's face, because Bucky went on. "That I wasn't there, or that I'm straight. I just don't... But I wasn't ready to come out either."

Steve collected his strength and the million broken pieces of his heart, knelt down in front of Bucky, and put his hands on Bucky's knees.

"I will wholeheartedly support you if you come out," he said firmly. "And it's the 21st century — things might not be that bad."

Bucky let out a humorless laugh, then pulled his phone out, his metal hand steady but his flesh one shaking, to show an article from the Daily Bugle to Steve.

"This is one of the first results when you search for my name now."

 

> AVENGER SEXUALITY SCANDAL
> 
>  
> 
> Liberalist criticism of the Avengers have been harpooning on the fact that most members are white men and that all of them are heterosexual. But is that really the case?
> 
>  
> 
> If our readers had to bet, votes would probably go to Hawkeye or Quicksilver as the most likely queer of the lot. The reality, it seems, is much trickier than that.
> 
> Compromising photos were aired this morning just in time for the midday news about the least likely gay member, James Barnes aka the Winter Soldier. Barnes has joined the Avengers this year after spending the last few years of his life as a Russian assassin (see _this page_ for further detail), and made a statement with his all-black leather attires and love for fast motorbikes and big guns.
> 
> All just a front, it seems, because on the photos below, Barnes is obviously having a good time at Purple Gardens — a notorious gay establishment. Despite the significant metal arm not being visible under the burgundy henley, the man in the pictures in undeniably Barnes.
> 
> And on the top left corner of the image, you can see the neon sign of the bar as well.
> 
> Top analysts have examined the photos and have confirmed that they haven't been tampered with, to anyone calling them manips.
> 
> Our top psychologist at the Bugle says, "It's not unsurprising that he used overly macho symbols, such as his motorbikes, to oversell his masculinity while repressing his real identity."
> 
> We haven't gotten official comment on the issue, neither from SHIELD nor the Avengers. But the fans of the group certainly have opinions.
> 
> "Wasn't it enough that he killed our sons, now it turns out he can do much worse by seducing them!" says Mrs. Miller, spokesperson of “Alliance for Traditional Family and Parenting”. "We demand that he be withdrawn from the team and sent back to Russia! _There_ they know what to do with people like him!"
> 
> It's also unclear if his teammates had knowledge about his predisposition and if he would be allowed to remain a member. Sure, it doesn't matter if he saves the city from the Cabal, but the Avengers are more than overpowered security figures. They are also role models. And Barnes had been on thin ice from the beginning thanks to his chequered past, so this may just be the last straw.
> 
> We are eager to hear Barnes's side of the story.

 

"Buck—"

"No," Bucky inhaled shakily. "Don't— encourage me. Not now."

"This is bullshit," Steve said angrily. "This article is bullshit, you shouldn't even care—"

"Of course I care!" Bucky exclaimed, and when he finally looked at Steve, his eyes were red. "They are calling my removal from the Avengers!"

"The Bugle is a ragtag and is only good to put the cat litter onto something," Steve said. "We are not getting rid of you just because some bigoted assholes—"

"Public opinion matters to the Avengers, to Fury," Bucky said, and Steve's heart broke at how devastated he looked.

"Not like this!"

"I cannot go back to Russia," Bucky whispered. "They'll kill me there, I turned against them and..."

"You aren't getting sent back to Russia!" Steve exclaimed. "God, this isn't— that isn't how we do things!”

Did Fury imply that, when Bucky joined them? _God._

Bucky stared at him like a kicked child.

"We will stand by you," Steve said. "Me, the Avengers, your _family_. We love you — _I_ love you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Bucky finally let go and sagged against Steve, who pulled him close and held him tight.

"Promise?" he said, barely audible. "You'll... stand by me?" 

"I promise," Steve said firmly, with finality. Without question.

Bucky exhaled.

"Even if I... if I come out?"

"Yes."

 

Bucky didn't have the energy to get back to Brooklyn, even though he missed Amanda, so they spent a mostly sleepless night of tossing and turning in the Tower — but at least they had each other to hold onto, Steve consoled himself. Then they gave up pretending at the crack of dawn and got up to start the day.

Bucky nursed his coffee and stared at the photos on his fridge: there were a couple of Steve there, too, but most were of African kids.

"If I come out officially, there's gonna be a backlash," Bucky said. "Against you and all the Avengers."

 _I don't give a fuck,_ Steve thought, but felt he needed something more concrete to say. "There's some backlash against us every other day. We can take it. Especially if it helps you — we're a team, that's what we do."

Bucky looked dubious.

"You want to come out?" Steve asked.

"Not particularly," Bucky said. "But I want to lie even less. And if, you know, in the future, we..." he gestured between Steve and himself. "It'd just be worse."

Steve nodded. "But you could say nothing. I mean, maybe in the future people will say what they want about us, but for now—"

"No," Bucky shook his head. "No, I want to do this right. If you don't mind."

"Why would I? You are doing something absolutely brave," Steve said. "And we can ask Pepper for a battle plan."

"Okay," Bucky nodded, and his mind was elsewhere. "JARVIS, can you get a team meeting? As soon as possible."

"Certainly, Mr. Barnes. It's scheduled at 9AM."

A little less than two hours away.

"Thanks."

They ate their breakfast in silence, which gave Steve the opportunity to properly consider an idea. He spoke up when Bucky was almost finished.

"Wouldn't it help if you weren't suddenly the only non-straight Avenger?"

Bucky stared at him.

It would be too soon, way to soon, since Steve just began his "subtly change his image" plan that would pave the road, but he would do it. God help him, he'd kiss Bucky on National TV if that made anything better.

"I mean if I came out too. They wouldn't say the same things about Cap that—"

"They would, Steve. They would say even worse things."

"They would in the future, too, when we announce we're together. This way at least you wouldn't be going through it on your own."

Steve only briefly considered that maybe Bucky didn't have such long-term plans before discarding the idea. The both of them were in it for the long haul, _throw your insecurities out of the window, Rogers._

"Steve, no," Bucky said. "Coming out is not something you should be doing on a dare. It's about _you_ , and you should do it when you feel ready for it. Not because you want to prove something to the world.”

“I want to help you,” Steve pleaded. “Please let me help you.”

“You can help me by still being the reliable patriot everybody trusts,” Bucky said. “Because — and I hate saying this without being a telepath — I think I know you don’t really want to come out, not yet. We’re… we weren’t ready for this.”

Bucky was the last person he could’ve lied to. “I feel like I could do more.”

“No,” Bucky said. “ _Please_ don't rush it."

Steve deflated.

Bucky took his hand and squeezed it once.

"I'm sorry you were robbed of this opportunity," Steve whispered.

"So am I."

 

Everybody was in the living room by 9AM, even Wanda and Pietro from Westchester.

Wanda tightly hugged Bucky without preamble, which Bucky returned after a moment of paralysis.

"I bought food," Vision said, and gestured at the five boxes of pastries on the table.

"Thank you, and thanks for coming," Bucky said.

"Of course," Pepper said. "Have you decided how to officially react?"

"Yeah, but I'd like to know a few things first," Bucky said, and they all sat down. Tony hugged his coffee and Pepper's right hand for support, everybody else was picking from the boxes with half their eyes on Bucky, and Steve handed Bucky a glazed donut.

"What short and long-term ramifications would my coming out as... queer have on the Avengers?" Bucky asked.

Steve made a huffing sound, sort of like being punched in the gut, but Bucky cut him off before he could speak up. "No, I need to know. And you would do the same thing."

"Short-term: there _would_ be backlash," Pepper said. "I'm sorry, but there would be. Any change provokes that, really; think about the additions of Sam, Pietro, Wanda and Vision."

"Would we lose support?" Bucky asked. "Public backing?"

"No," Tony said strongly, suddenly waking up. "Not significantly. There's always going to be an opposing group, and with you they'll have ammunition because you're Russian _and_ queer, but our supporters are louder and more loyal. JARVIS was up all night collecting data and analysing statistics, and the first mission of saving the world and most of the naysayers will quiet down. Funny, that."

Steve had a hunch it wasn't just JARVIS who was up all night but also Tony, but still, this was not bad news.

"They will still target _you_ , specifically, after that," Pepper said. Her otherwise sharp edges were soft as she looked at Bucky, and Steve thought about how unfair it was that she was perceived to be nothing more but a cold CEO. How unfair the world was to all of them, in certain ways. "But no matter what, the Avengers will stand with you — and Steve, if or when it comes to that — and eventually it'll settle into some form of normalcy."

Bucky nodded, determined.

"Thank you," Steve murmured.

"I'd still like to hear you're okay with it," Bucky told the room at large. "Everybody."

"For fuck's sake," Tony said.

"You don't need our approval to be who you are," Bruce said.

"I second that," Nat said, and everybody nodded.

"I would be calmer if I had it — this will affect you all, too."

"So what," Clint said.

"Let it. We can take it," Sam said somewhat aggressively.

"But you have it, of course," Pietro said, and when Bucky didn't cave, they all said yes, one after another.

"Thank you," Bucky said, and leaned back on the couch, and finally took a bite from that donut on his plate. "So how should we do this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: forced coming out, discussions of homophobia, dealing with a forced coming out, breakdowns.
> 
>  
> 
> I am _terribly_ sorry for pulling this shit in the third to last chapter, but I promise I'm going somewhere reasonable with it. I want to make it very clear that I hate forced outings; you should never, ever do it irl, and I also dislike how it's usually an overused trope to further the plot of the straight hero in fiction. Even until posting I was battling with myself if I should change it, and I hope that my decision to the contrary will be justified if you read the next chapters. 
> 
> (Also Pepper isn't trying to erase pansexuality, she is just looking at Bucky's chances reasonably. As a pansexual myself I know that it's increidbly hard to make people understand what it even means, and sometimes I just go with bi because it's just easier. Queer life is never easy or simple, folks.)
> 
> I deliberately waited until now to post it because you'll get ch14 tomorrow, and then the last chapter on Friday, my Stucky AU BB posting day! 
> 
>  
> 
> I was having the HARDEST time with deciding the title - "I'm doing better than I ever was" is such a powerful line, but it really doesn't apply to the second half of the chapter, and I feared that would be misleading. Therefore it's now what it is, which at least may give you a bit of a foreshadowing, even without knowing the related song itself.
> 
>  
> 
> All my biking knowledge comes from my dad, and if he could read this (he doesn't speak English) he'd be APPALLED that I had them ride in late November NYC weather, which, according to Google, is exactly the same as what we get at that time of the year, so. Please excuse this and suspend your disbelief :D I couldn't tweak the timeline to get them on a bike earlier. 
> 
> (In hindsight I could've, but I was depressed when I began writing this story and my meds are still only kicking in, I've recently had surgery, my grandpa is dying... what I'm saying is despite my best efforts this story isn't as good as I wanted it to be.)
> 
>    
> I hope you like it!  
>  
> 
>  


	14. starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _Call It What You Want_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Thursday somewhere in the world right? _*sweats*_

_holding my breath, slowly i said_

_“you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?”_

_“YES”_

 

James Barnes, aka. the Winter Soldier, announced his sexual attraction wasn't really anybody else's business, but since it came up, he didn't care about gender all that much. He did so in a short video uploaded to his Twitter, which then every single Avenger retweeted or reposted with comments showing support and approval.

After that, he became the new hot topic, and journalists and the paparazzi were after him day and night. Even during a mere trip to a nearby convenience store  someone tweeted he was sighted, which ended up in flashes in his face, so he had to use every bit of his camouflage skills to disappear and get back to his apartment.

Bucky hadn't left his flat for two days after that.

He was far from the hyper-focused, animated Bucky of the previous week. His mind was always elsewhere and his eyes vacant, even as he was doing things he liked. He burned an entire tray of chocolate chip cookies because he forgot to take them out, and sometimes Steve had to call his name out multiple times before he reacted. During movies he was only half-paying attention as he petted Amanda and stared into the distance.

But he couldn’t sit still, either: he needed to be doing at least three different things at the same time. The TV was usually on in the background with some nature documentary, some reading material had to be pulled up on his tablet, and that left enough room for sixteen different tabs on his laptop, or an Amanda to groom, or baking, or cleaning his weapons, or something, _anything._

No matter he couldn’t focus on one thing when he needed so many diversions.

Steve, for himself, ignored his phone as much as possible. All the leading headlines on major news sites were about Bucky; speculating, slandering, and/or explaining the big coming out of the ages. He couldn’t visit a social media site without seeing at least one hashtag or topic trending that was somehow related to the scandal. Not even the queer community seemed to be on their side, it seemed from Sam’s texts, based on how they were complaining that people like Bucky made them look bad. Steve almost hurled his phone at the wall at that.

His inbox was full of notes and invasive questions of varying politeness, and a bunch of Google notifications with articles about himself, which was just... off-putting.

But Bucky deserved his attention more than any random person or paparazzi wanting to know how his "Christian values" were doing.

They marathoned the extended _Lord of the Rings_ series, because what else were they going to do when they couldn't and didn't want to leave the house? And Clint and Nat came over once each, and Sam texted them stupid memes from DC, trying to cheer them up.

Bucky was antsy and frustrated and scared; waiting for someone to kick him off the team, no doubt. Not even sex helped: Bucky didn’t feel up to more than quickies every now and again, which was when the guilt and the apologies peaked.

Steve walked in on him staring mournfully and miserably at the dildo Steve had used in the bath.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, worried.

“I _want_ to fuck you until you’re hoarse again, I _want_ to, I just… can’t,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry. I understand if you...” he trailed off.

“I love having sex with you,” Steve said and he sat down next to him. “But I love you more. Even if you never want to have sex again — or can’t, I guess — I can just use my own hand and then sleep by your side.”

Bucky blinked at him the way you do at a stupid but cute puppy. “You are ridiculously sappy, Rogers.”

“It took me years to even get around the idea of dating, let alone sex, after the ice,” Steve said softly.

“Stress and depression does that to you,” Bucky agreed and hummed, and the rolled the dildo between his palms. “I’m still sorry. You deserve—”

“If you say I deserve better— ” Steve warned.

“Then what?” Bucky challenged with his chin raised.

“Then I’ll tickle you until you take it back,” Steve finished.

“I’m not ticklish,” Bucky said defensively.

“Are you betting on that?”

Bucky stared at him for a few moments, then snorted and pulled Steve into a familiar and much welcomed kiss.

 

Steve had nightmares about Bucky leaving him, no doubt as a result of their conversation regarding sex and how a nameless, faceless someone had warned Bucky of Steve, even before they had met — in all of his dreams, Bucky left him for his own good.

At least Bucky got some reassurance from how Steve’s worst fears included a break-up, not that Bucky was sleeping any better. He didn’t get any dreams, he said, but he couldn’t sleep through the night, either: he woke up multiple times, sweating or shivering, and he couldn’t fall back asleep easily.

"It'll blow off," Steve said on one such night.

"Yeah, I just... I thought I was better than letting it affect me so badly," Bucky sighed, and no matter how much Steve kissed him or told him that he had every right to be upset, he didn't really believe it.

Steve wanted to punch something really bad.

And then he could, when a call to assemble came: it was a second-rate baddie, really, even two Avengers would've been an overkill, but Fury called them all in.

"To show that the team can work just as efficiently as always, so don't fuck this up," he added, and even Rhodey flew in to help.

The hardest part was to find something to do for every member, which ended up with Wanda and Vision using their powers to put up a barrier between the bad guy and the citizens of the Bronx, Tony broadcasting some music, and Rhodey using his speakers to tell spectators that it was all under control, no need to panic.

After the "battle", some reporters had to be restrained by Sam and Nat because they were so eager to get some answers from Bucky they almost jumped him.

"Enough!" Steve stepped in, too, and while Bucky disappeared inside the Quinjet he addressed the people who now turned to him. "The Winter Soldier has the right to privacy, just like everybody else, and you are not helping our work by ignoring that."

"Captain Rogers, what do you _really_ think of him now that you know what he's _really_ like?"

Steve suppressed a sigh — enough was enough.

"My opinion on the Winter Soldier does not change because of his sexuality," Steve said firmly. "Your sexuality doesn't define _you_ , only how you're treated by society, which is a shame," and he looked the reporters in the front row dead in the eye. Some looked down with a flush in their faces. "I had thought America was better than this, and I'm sorry to see how long we still have to go when it comes to _real_ equality."

Then he turned and stormed off.

Maybe it was childish, but _God_ it felt good.

 

Even after a hot shower, Bucky's hands were shaking as he pulled his knees under his chin. Steve pulled a tartan over his shoulders and Bucky leaned into his side.

"Now they're saying horrible things about you, too," Bucky said, and nodded at his phone. "That they're disappointed in Captain America."

"It's their fault for not listening to what I've been saying for years," Steve said. "It's not on you."

"It's exactly what I've been trying to avoid," Bucky mumbled. "You, in this mess, being harassed..."

"No, baby—" Steve said.

"There's a petition to remove me from the team," Bucky said, and Steve twitched, but Bucky's hand shot out to make him stay put. "It's not gonna go anywhere, and Fury told me I can stay, no matter what. I just don't know why this hit me so hard. I _knew_ this was coming."

Steve put an arm around him and pulled him close. "But you couldn't control the timing."

"No shit, _Sam_ ," Bucky said, and Steve poked his side, and Bucky finally smiled. "I'm sorry you have to be holed up here with me now."

"I don't actually mind," Steve said. "I'd hide in a hole under the earth if that's what you needed."

"Really? You, always ready to punch someone?"

"I _am_ ready to punch someone," Steve said vehemently. "But that wouldn't help you. If me being here does, with all the curtains closed and our phones turned off, then that's what I'll do."

As long as Bucky needed it, Steve was willing to stay put. If he could’ve solved this with punching, he would’ve; but sadly the world didn’t work that way. But at least he would make sure that Bucky knew he was valued, and needed, and loved, in their treasured little bubble.

Bucky suddenly pulled the tartan over their heads, casting them in darkness, but Steve could still see his eyes shining. "Like this?" he whispered.

"Exactly like this," Steve said, and kissed him slowly.

"You're right, you can't fight this battle for me," Bucky said. "But if you mean it... there's a place we could find shelter. Until this blows over."

"Where?"

His only answer was a pair of twinkling eyes, and then Bucky threw the tartan off to go get something from the other room. He came back with a bracelet in his hand, one that Steve'd seen amongst his collection on the shelf, but never thought much about: just a single row of big, black, engraved beads.

One of the beads was now glowing lightly, and then an image of a young woman appeared above it, made out of from what appeared to be a black, sandy material.

"White Wolf! I hope you haven’t broken your arm," she said in a foreign accent, and the light of her own bracelet lit up her dark skin.

"Whoa," Steve breathed, because his earlier hypothesis about the origins of Bucky's arm just got confirmed.

"I thought it couldn’t be broken," Bucky said.

“If anybody could break it, it would be you,” she said with a chiding glance at Bucky.

Bucky lifted his left arm to show that it was perfectly functional, and the girl — because that's what she was, really, not a day older than Peter — nodded in approval.

“All is fine with the arm.”

“Good, then — what brings you to me at this hour?"

It must have been the middle of the night where she was, but Bucky wasn’t fazed.

"Oh come on, Shuri, I know you're up in the lab anyway."

"...I was," she admitted cheerfully. "I'm working on combining thermal and magnetic energy to create this transformer that will change the world!"

Her excitement got Bucky more energetic, too, as he bounced and sat down next to Steve.

"I have absolutely no doubt," Bucky said honestly. "You’ll have to tell me all about it later, but first… Princess, this is Steve Rogers, my partner. Steve, this is Princess Shuri of Wakanda."

"Your honor," Steve said, and he wished he had worn something other than an old T-shirt (of Bucky's) with the Star Trek insignia on it.

"Oh, the honor is mine, I've wanted to meet you for some time now," she grinned.

That surprised him. "Really?"

"Yes, Bucky's told me a _lot_ about you," she said, and Steve wasn't imagining the innuendo because Bucky _blushed_.

"Which is why I'm calling," Bucky said. "Can I, um, take you up on that offer? About needing a bit of an escape?"

"Yes, of course," she said, suddenly turning serious. She didn’t hesitate one bit, didn’t even need to ask what Bucky meant. "I'm sorry that things are turning out so bad over there."

Bucky nodded, sagging a bit. "And can I bring Steve, too?"

She angled herself to look at him better, and Bucky leaned his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve had a feeling he was being measured, though for what, he couldn't have said.

_The Princess of Wakanda._

With whom Bucky was on first name basis. _That_ part he never would've guessed.

He shrunk down a bit, and Bucky laced their fingers together.

"Sure, but he has to bring his shield."

"Thank you," Bucky said, and then the holographic disappeared.

"The Princess of Wakanda," Steve said, still seeing the light when he closed his eyes.

"Yeah, um..."

"She created your arm, didn't she," Steve said, and Bucky stared at him.

"How—"

"It's vibranium," Steve said.

_"How?!"_

"Bucky, my one and only weapon is made out of vibranium. I know it well enough to recognize it.”

"Wow, okay, yeah. Note to self: never to underestimate you again," Bucky mumbled.

"But I would appreciate it if you didn’t spring stuff like this at me,” Steve said. “Like that the _Princess_ made your arm, or that Clint is your landlord.”

“Sorry. I’m not used to sharing my life,” Bucky said. He hung his head, and Steve bumped him with his shoulder.

“I ain’t mad,” Steve said. “And you _love_ catching me off guard, don’t even deny that part.”

Bucky smirked at him. “Maybe. But yeah, I was recovering in Wakanda for a while after the Red Room. Long story short, the soviets didn't want me to work for anybody else after Nat brought me in, but they couldn't kill me either, I was in a top security SHIELD building — and very hostile at the time. Anyway, the Red Room thought the best way to get rid of me was to frame me and get someone else to do the job, so they blew up a UN building... high profile people there, a good chance to get some super secret intelligence agency after me. Their plan almost worked, except T'Challa was at that conference, and he saved a lot of people."

"T'Challa, as in..."

"Then Prince, now King T'Challa," Bucky said. "Sadly, his father was one of the few who died, and he hunted me for a short while before he realized that I had nothing to do with it. He offered shelter to me in Wakanda, thinking that their technology could help with my brain problems," he knocked at his forehead. "And it did. I was there for a few years before I came to the states."

"They healed your body and mind," Steve said.

"They did, and even before they set up their shelters around the world," Bucky said softly, and he studied his left arm with quiet marvel. "It was an incredible gift from them."

"I owe them too, then," Steve said, and when Bucky looked at him, he just kissed the metal palm.

 

They got onto Shuri's plane the next morning at the Wakandan Center. They had to get a taxi to get there: Steve had a duffel bag and his shield, and Bucky had a backpack for himself, a huge bag for Amanda, and Amanda herself in a carrier, meowing in a rather outraged manner. Bucky sighed heavily after he realized there was nothing he could do to placate her, and Steve squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Fury had okayed their leave without hesitation. Sam had supported the decision as well when Steve called him, saying that a retrieve could do them both good. Tony took temporary leadership of the team, and with that, Steve’s side of getting ready had been done.

Bucky got Nat and Clint to feed Kimoyo regularly.

"I've flown with him before, and it stressed him out, so it's better to just leave him home," Bucky had said, but still looked wistfully at the terrarium.

The plane was unlike anything Steve's been on. It was controlled by a woman, apparently with her thoughts? From a small device on her forehead? He didn’t know which. Steve was pretty used to technology, or so he liked to think, especially for a guy from the forties, simply because he was around Tony Stark a lot, but this... this was futuristic even by the future's standard.

They had a seat on the side, sharing the plane with Wakandans on the way home, who said good morning and then completely ignored the two white guys to chat in their native language.

It was a breath of fresh air after the treatment by the American public.

Most notable, however, was how _un_ like any other plane this one had behaved: the engines barely made any noise, the acceleration couldn't be felt in the cabin, the altitude changes had no impact on them. Steve appreciated and marveled at it — he was happy for anything that didn't make him feel like the Valkyrie — and so did Amanda, who fell asleep shortly into their flight.

Bucky didn't, but he laced his hand through Steve's and used his shoulder as a pillow as they started listening to an audiobook together.

They were in Wakanda much faster than what Steve expected, and much faster than a normal plane ever could've done: Bucky pointed out the window as they began their descent, and Steve saw long prairies with golden grass, and high mountains, covered in snow, and huge, green jungles. And this was when Steve began to worry, because the plane _kept descending_ , dangerously close to the forest, lower and lower, and he grabbed Bucky's arm — and the forest turned out to be some sort of a hologram, revealing an incredible city as the plane flew through it.

"Wow," Steve exhaled, and Bucky smiled.

"This is Birnin Zana, the capital," Bucky said.

The city was unlike anything Steve had ever seen before: reflective glass and bright metal, yes, but the shapes and the sized didn't match up to what Steve was used to in the West.

The streets were busy and loud with life, but the familiar roar of car engines or the clicking of the trains on the track was completely absent. A lot of the building walls were painted brown or beige, creating a sharp contrast with the coldness of the skyscrapers, but they gave the city and overall warm impression. The architecture was completely alien, and the artist in Steve marveled at the high glass corridors and steel archways just as much as the soldier in him marveled at the jets hovering above them or _folding their wings_.

He was experiencing serious whiplash, because he had went through this before, when he woke up in the 21st century and everything was just so different.

And based on what he saw so far, including Bucky's arm, Wakanda was in a different century too.

They were the last to leave the plane, and Bucky made his was towards a bald woman in red with a spear in her hand.

"James Barnes and Steve Rogers, I welcome you to Wakanda in Princess Shuri’s name. I'll lead you to your accommodations."

"Thank you," Bucky said, and Steve took his suitcase so that Bucky had only his backpack and Amanda's carrier to maneuver.

Bucky clearly trusted the woman, and Steve followed dutifully, too.

They were led out of the city by one of the guardswoman, which meant going _through_ the city first, and Steve was in awe. He saw the "tribal" colors and patterns he had also seen at Bucky's everywhere, and the town had some rural, traditional vibes to it — just the way some vendors set up their stands, or the handmade wares sold at the shops. But at the very same time the trains? Steve couldn't even tell what they were, but they were _hovering_. And the dusty red streets mixed with glaring metals, and everybody had one of those bracelets that Bucky used to talk to Princess Shuri.

They passed Wakandans of all kinds: some in what Steve guessed to be more modern, some more old-fashioned clothes — although what did he know? He knew nothing about the culture, really. What he supposed to be modern could actually be grieving attire, or a wedding outfit; he should not consider them based on his own American standards.

But they also passed a lot of women dressed exactly like their guide, and Steve had no trouble identifying guards when he saw them.

Some people stared at them, but not the invasive way of the reporters back home, just curiously — maybe because they were two white guys with what Steve presumed to be the national guard slash police. It was a breath of fresh air after how the paparazzi had treated them.

They got onto one of those flying bus-things and flew out to a nearby... village. Probably. A few huts, at least, but not very close together, near a river, surrounded loosely by the trees, altogether somewhat remote from the capital city.

"This is your house," the woman told them, gesturing at a hut, and smiled at Bucky, too. "It’s been redesigned with you in mind. Welcome, White Wolf!"

"Thank you, Aneka," Bucky said.

She crossed her lower arms in front of her in a sign that Steve couldn't decipher, then got back to the vehicle and drove away.

"This is _good_ ," Bucky said, running his hand on a mesh stretched across the window. "Amanda won't be able to crawl her way through this."

"Don't they normally have glass?"

"Not out here, no. Come inside, let's see what we have."

Steve followed Bucky to what was a small but welcoming room. A red rug on the floor, a huge couch to the side, across of which was a shiny kitchen, and two doors down the tiny hallway. One led to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom, both of them small, clean and inviting. Especially the bed with the same kinds of tribal covers that Bucky also had at home.

Bucky opened Amanda's carrier when he made sure that the exists were sealed, but she she wasn't very keen on leaving the only familiar place. Bucky let her be and sat down on the bed, and looked up at Steve.

"I know it isn't much," he said apologetically.

This wasn't the Bucky who was testing how much Steve would tolerate; this was an insecure, shy Bucky.

Steve sat down beside him. "We are guests of a foreign country," Steve said. "This is plenty."

And it was. They had everything, most importantly, each other. But Bucky didn’t look convinced, so Steve searched for something else to say, something that wasn’t outright about convincing him to change his mind.

“Was this were you were staying? Back then?”

“Not quite. Shuri mentioned that hut was re-purposed, and it wasn’t so… Western, in style. Not that they didn’t give me everything I needed, and more than I hoped or deserved, back when I was hiding here, like now. That was just different.”

Steve startled. “But you aren’t hiding.”

“I am, though. I’m just happy I’m not alone, like… then. Even though I dragged you into it,” Bucky stared at his hands.

Steve straightened up.

“Bucky, you didn’t drag me into anything. Pepper and I have been working on how to ease my coming out for weeks, I… wanted to be prepared, just wasn’t, in time.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to look at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” Steve shrugged. “And us being here, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But.” Bucky paused. “But it’s not responsible, from me, to run away from the repercussions of my actions.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a moment.

The sad, the impossibly awful thing was that Steve would’ve agreed with him a few months ago. That being responsible meant facing the world, no matter what. Even if it killed you.

And Steve hated himself for ever thinking that way.

“Yeah, I believe in responsibility,” Steve said. “When you break a window, the right thing to do is be responsible, say you did it, say you’re sorry, and pay for it. Or how Tony was being responsible when he realized the damage his weapons caused, so he stopped making them. Or how, sometimes, being responsible is _not_ calling Spider-Man when we can handle the situation and he has a test to take the next day.”

Bucky’s eyes were wide as he stared at Steve, full of wonder and more unease than Steve wanted to see in there.

“There’s multiple ways of being responsible, and choosing to stay alive is one of them,” Steve said. “Alive and healthy, and not just physically but mentally as well. You taught me that, Buck.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve corrupted you?” Bucky whispered. “Or that I’m dreaming.”

“Because you still got issues about accepting good things, just like I do,” Steve said, and he laid down to the mattress, suddenly very tired.

Bucky pondered over that for a moment. “I guess. I thought I don’t, but… I was afraid you’d say I was a coward for running away. Deep down. I know you wouldn’t…”

“…there’s just that voice inside, isn’t there,” Steve finished for him.

Bucky nodded, then let himself fall down next to Steve who immediately sneaked his arms around him, using the last of his strength.

“I’ll be happy if I make half as good a progress as you have with therapy,” Steve whispered into his neck, where he buried his face.

Bucky angled himself until he could kiss Steve’s forehead. “You will.”

They didn't mean to fall asleep in the middle of the day, but jetlag and the stress of the last few days got the better of them, and somehow their fully clothed cuddling turned into fully clothed napping. They woke up when the Sun was down, but the horizon still had a beautiful orange tint to it, to the sound of Amanda meowing up the neighborhood.

Bucky gave her food from his big suitcase, and they unpacked what little they had to the shelves.

"Want something to eat?" Bucky asked Steve.

They found the fridge full of raw foods, and Bucky had Steve chopping and peeling as he made dinner; he knew what everything was and how to make it when Steve couldn’t even tell vegetables aside from fruits. The smell even brought Amanda out to the living room, where she was glancing at them distrustfully from under the safety of the couch.

“I don’t know about you,” Steve said, after they finished the delicious dish, “but I’m still beat.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?” Bucky asked — he was blinking slowly with sunken in eyes.

“No, I genuinely am. I wanna climb under those covers and enjoy a night with absolute perfect temperatures.”

Bucky smiled at him thankfully, and headed for bed. Before Steve followed him, he quickly typed out a Tweet about how much he preferred warm weather conditions to the cold to still work on his own humanization, and because it was _true_.  They curled up together, and before Steve fell asleep, he felt Amanda jump up to them as well, and he sank into the embrace of dreams with a smile on his face.

  


They both woke up surprisingly well-rested the next day, and even earlier than they would’ve in NYC: just in time for the beautiful Wakandan sunrise. They camped out for breakfast, letting the mild weather and the Sun warm them up; a much-welcomed brief from the harsh early-December of New York.

“What are we gonna do here?” Steve asked him when they were washing the dishes. “In Wakanda, I mean.”

“Meet Shuri, probably,” Bucky said. “I used to work, actually, once I was well enough. Would you mind…”

“Of course not,” Steve said. “What did you do?”

“I was farming. Moving the hay, taking care of small barn animals — I was with the Mining Tribe, and this is still their territory, but it’s closer to Birnin Zana than where I used to live. I kind of went as far away from society as possible.”

He looked sheepish, but if anything, the barn animals part got Steve uneasy. But hey, herding chicken shouldn’t be harder than punching Nazis.

The Sun wasn’t very high in the sky when Aneka came back and told them that the Princess was expecting them.

Steve’s face must’ve been screaming what he was thinking because Bucky said, “One moment, please,” before pulling him into the hut.

“Relax, she’s cool.”

“I didn’t even bring anything to wear,” Steve pulled at his shirt — originally Bucky’s — that had the NASA logo on the front.

“Wear one of your flannels, your true nature is showing in them,” Bucky said with an eyeroll — he just checked himself in the mirror to make sure his own snake T-shirt was clean, the bastard.

  


"Princess Shuri, your guests are here," Aneka announced with a bow of her head in a room to someone only she could see. They were back in the capital and under the ground now, in a place with incredibly bright lights, and then a young, bouncy teenage girl came dashing for them.

"Hello, Bucky," she said with a wide smile.

"Princess," Bucky replied. "Thank you for having us."

"I like fixing broken white boys," Shuri said, and turned to Steve. "You must be Captain Rogers."

"Yes, Princess Shuri."

"Oh no, none of that here — call me Princess _or_ Shuri, but not combined or I think I'm in trouble. Speaking of... _Winter Soldier_ , eh?" she said, and Bucky shrugged.

"It had a reputation in some circles, so I thought why not."

Shuri shook her head. “Did you bring Amanda?”

“Yeah, she’s in our house.”

“And yet you didn’t bring her here!”

"You can come visit and see her, not that you haven’t already — here you’d just have to try to coax her out from under things," Bucky said in a warning tone, and Shuri frowned.

"You are such a spoilsport. I’ve only seen _pictures_ , and what good is that? I hope your company is better," she nodded at Steve.

"I'm not coaxing her out either," Steve said sternly.

"None of you are fun," Shuri said, but her grin belied her words. “But okay, I’ll come over later.”

Bucky smiled thankfully, and Steve noted how honest his smile, his every movement was here. After just a day some of the burden was already lifted, just with some distance, and Steve was eternally thankful.

“You ready for me to check your arm, or do you want to get settled first?” she asked, and the ease didn’t leave his shoulders.

“I’m ready. I was expecting you to jump right into it,” Bucky said. “Even though it works perfectly.”

“Yes, but how many times do I have to tell you,” she said, and she led Bucky — and by proxy Steve — down a narrow flight of stairs and had him lay down on a floating table, “just because something works—”

“It still can be improved, yeah. I know.”

Bucky motioned at Steve so that he was on Bucky’s right and took his hand. Shuri put her hand — and her bracelet — over Bucky’s left, and the sand-like projection created a 3D model of Bucky’s arm.

“Okay, this looks good. It’ll be better after I’m done, of course, but nevertheless. You feel no pain, right?”

“Nope, everything’s fine.”

“Not even in your torso? Shoulders? Back?”

Bucky bit his lip, and Shuri’s eyes flashed at him. “Speak.”

“Sometimes, _ver_ y occasionally, when I take a bigger hit, then I’m a bit sore at the back, yeah.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand.  “But that’s not pain—”

“It’s still discomfort and shouldn’t be doing that. I’m thinking a bigger core might solve the issue…” she turned the hologram left and right, pursing her lips. “I’ve invented a few things since you’ve been gone that could help.”

She stepped away and Bucky sat up. “I’m sure you have.”

“So come back tomorrow, and bring your shield,” she said, the latter to Steve. “I have a few things I want to see.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and if you want to take up where you left off, we have a few goatlings that would love your company in the nearby huts.”

“I’d love to,” Bucky said, and smiled.

  


“Goatlings?”

“She knows it’s not what they’re called,” Bucky said. “But I told her that once Tony called Peter a Spiderling, and she now uses that form to every small and cute thing.”

“Yeah, no, I meant,” Steve said, “goats?”

Bucky grinned. “I wasn't exactly stable, when I first came here. Getting me away from society without absolute isolation was the best solution. Mostly kids were around, and where I lived was like, a farm — I took care about a dozen goats, helped with the hay, the herding, the cleanup.”

“And every kid in Wakanda wanted to see the White Wolf with one arm, whom the goats trusted,” Aneka said from the pilot’s… seat. Where she was sitting, cross-legged, and seemingly steering the vehicle (a hovercraft, Bucky had told him) with her thoughts _._

Steve was never going to get used to this — then again, he had thought the same about everything in the 21st century. Being able to survive, and deal, was not a new realization; but maybe he was able to change a lot better than what he gave himself credit for.

The plane landed back near the farm, then departed back to the city immediately after they said their goodbye to Aneka.

The nearby huts were now occupied, mostly with children in red and orange clothes, two adults, all herding a bunch of goats towards the farther area of the fenced farm. They waved at them, and even said a few words Steve couldn’t understand, but Bucky replied back in kind, if a bit stilted.

“They’re gonna leave us be, but we can go and help them if we want.”

Steve nodded. “I’m fine with helping them out. But… _White Wolf?”_

That had been on his mind since the initial call to Shuri, but he had other things on his mind until the distance from home let it float to the surface again.

“I didn’t want to be called my Russian name, but they had to call me _something_ ,” Bucky said.

That made Steve think of another riddle he was never able to solve regarding his lover as they walked up to the house at a leisurely pace.

“So how did you become James Barnes?”

“I was born Yakov,” Bucky said. “By the time I met Nat the Red Room was either mockingly calling me Yasha, or the Asset, so I wasn’t fond of either after SHIELD got me.”

Steve swallowed and squeezed his hand.

“If you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s easier here, where I know I’m safe," Bucky sighed and sat down to the side of the house, and Steve thumped down beside him. "So later SHIELD didn’t know what to call me, I responded badly to everything, and then Nat began talking to me and referring to me as James. You know, close to the old, but different enough. And when I came to Wakanda, I was just James.”

He went quiet, leaving the rest of the mystery untouched. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Steve offered quietly.

Bucky avoided his eyes, and instead stared at the kids in the distance. Steve admired his profile in the beautiful sunlight, how light his eyes were, the greenery of the background. Good thing he brought his drawing tablet — this was a sight he wanted to commemorate.

“Nah, I’m just… you’ll make fun of me.”

“Not if it’s something that’d hurt you,” Steve said.

“It wouldn’t, it’s just… it’s silly, okay. Everything back then was weird, for me — my focus was missing while I was with the soviets, my thoughts were all over the place, and even after Shuri healed me, everything felt surreal. I kind of lost all sense of direction, apart for my main goal, which was to never hurt anybody again.”

Steve wanted to ask if that was why Bucky didn’t tell the Avengers who outed him, but refrained — instead he put his hand on Bucky’s arm reassuringly.

Bucky glanced at him shyly.

“When I came here I was fine with either James or what they called me, _Emhlope Ingcuka_ — White Wolf in Wakandan. And you’ve met Shuri, you know what she’s like — she can be a prankster.”

“So can you be,” Steve reminded him, and Bucky snorted.

“Exactly. Which is why, after she kept calling me _James of barns_ because I was spending most of my time in a _barn,_  with _barn animals_ , I told Nat that SHIELD should issue my ID with the name James Barnes.”

Steve stared at him.

Bucky stared back, unblinking.

“Are you... you are serious.”

“Yep. It’s as good as a surname as it gets.”

“It… is,” Steve agreed warily, and let his head fall back to the wall. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You can ask Shuri or Nat — but you can’t tell Wilson.”

It was just the long-ingrained need to be contrarian that made Steve ask, “Or what?”

“Or you can soon forget what my mouth feels around your dick.”

Fair point.

“Buchanan, though,” Steve said wonderingly. “Was that because you played with the goat _bucklings_ and wanted to incorporate that, too?”

Bucky spluttered. “No! Jesus, Steve, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, James _of Barns_ ,” Steve said, and Bucky huffed.

“You,” he said, “are intolerable. No, Bucky came about when I moved to the States and realized that James was a bit more common of a first name than around here.”

Steve had to agree with that. Just amongst the Avengers they had Rhodey, and back in his day, two Howlies were also some form of James or another.

“And I wanted something that _nobody else_ in their right mind would chose, and also something that nobody would think to call an ex-assassin murder bot. So I went with Buchanan, nicknamed Bucky.”

“Was that the first you picked in the alphabetical list of names? ARGH!” Steve’s smart-ass question earned him a metal finger in the ribs, which he kind of deserved.

“You can stop making fun of my names the moment you come up with something better,” Bucky said.

Steve’s first reaction was that he had a very good idea for a better surname, and then had to take a moment as the weight of that thought hit him.

That wasn’t something he was going to bring up like this, right now — so he compartmentalized it away to be examined later. Not because it scared him, but because if he was going to do this — _when_ he was going to do this — he was going to do this _right._

“I like Bucky just fine,” he said softly, and kissed Bucky’s lips.

Then a loud and unexpected noise surprised him.

"Naa!"

"The _hell_!"

Bucky also jumped with him, but now he was petting Steve's arm reassuringly. "It's just a goat, Steve."

"I'm a city guy," Steve grumbled at the goat, and Bucky laughed.

One of the goats wandered over from the rest of the pack, and was _not_ staring Steve down intently, because goats didn’t get into staredowns with superhumans, no matter how much it may have looked like that. Two _bucklings_ also bounced by.

“Well, we have a goat farm now,” Bucky said, and Steve laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll answer the comments later, I just have to post this, do the last touch-ups on the last chapter and post that and then do the masterpost because my deadline is today! :D I'm so excited! 
> 
>  
> 
> I tried my best to research Wakanda, read a bunch of comics apart from relying on the movie, obviously, but fact is: I'm hwite. I'm very hwite. Most of my small bigoted Eastern European country is. I read a lot of posts about how you should approach writing black characters/settings if you are white, and how not to offend/appropritate/misrepresent, but naturally that doesn't mean that I haven't accidentally done just that. So please note that I never wanted to, even if I have, and I'm sorry in advance. 
> 
> Their hut is furnitured completely by me. I couldn't find any references from the movies, so I just made my own life easier by having it this way.
> 
> ANEKA SHOULD'VE BEEN IN THE MOVIES clap your hands if you agree.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry for the bad puns involving Bucky's name. I _really_ am. I thought it would be symbolically fitting if Nat and Shuri named him, since they effectively saved and brought him back to himself, but that he would also name himself with the most important of his names - the recovery was his, after all.
> 
>  
> 
> This entire thing of them going away to Wakanda was (subconsciously?) born out of a thought I had when I was watching a Hungarian video critic talking about  _Frozen_ , and how he disliked  _Let It Go_ because he thought it was easy for Elsa to be brave and empowered or whatever when she wasn't facing her problems, just running away, and how he was glad when the movie immediately dragged her back. And I've been thinking about that for years for some reason - I guess I see his point, but also: sometimes (and I tell this to myself on a daily basis) you need to "run away" and shelter and protect yourself, and lick your wounds and fix your armor, before you can come back and be victorious over your problems. It's okay to need time. Steve's journey is seeing the value of that, I think. 


	15. you and me forevermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: _New Year's Day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final and longest chapter! Hope you like it!

_please don’t ever become a stranger_

_whose laugh i could recognize anywhere_

 

Life on the farm was slow and uneventful, something Steve had believed would be absolutely boring and make him go mad, but it just... wasn’t. Firstly, they were in the most advanced country in the world — Bucky could turn the oven on with his bracelet from the other end of the hut, for instance. And sure, Tony had been state of the art and ultra-modern as well, but not like this.

Secondly, nobody gave a single fuck about Captain America or the Winter Soldier here. If people stared — which they sometimes did, when they went into the capital to explore the food vendors and for Bucky to get some Wakandan clothes — it was because they stood out against the locals like a sore thumb. But nobody minded them holding hands or stealing soft kisses on the cheek from one another, something Steve was becoming overwhelmingly fond of.

Thirdly, and this was the most important: life just was the best when Steve was by Bucky’s side. Let that be sex, or cooking, or playing tag with the goats, or reading quietly at night, next to each other but each in their own world, Steve couldn’t imagine ever needing more.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Steve said one night to Sam, on his comparatively old-fashioned phone, “I’m good like this.”

“Not even a single fistfight?” Sam asked with laughter in his voice.

“Nope. And I don’t even want — I mean if someone came trying to destroy what we have, I can’t just do nothing if I can help in some way — but I’m… good. I’m good like this, Sam.”

“You found something that makes you happy, huh,” Sam said quietly.

Steve looked over at where Bucky was talking excitedly with the local kids, and smiled. “Yeah. I think I finally have.”

 

He was thinking about asking Bucky to marry him more and more seriously. He’d never… well, maybe with Peggy. He’d thought about that, in a sort of arbitrary, _if they win the war_ sort of way. But growing up he’d never imagined anyone wanting him as a husband.

Even if Bucky didn’t want to give up his name — which Steve wholeheartedly understood, given the amount of trauma he suffered when he was stripped of his identity — they could have joint surnames or something. Steve was absolutely ready to redefine what Rogers meant to him. He had done it before, after all, when he enlisted and became Captain America.

Pre-Bucky Barnes Steve Rogers used to care so much about what people thought of him, and worrying about tomorrow, and not being able to sit still for five minutes, and not admitting he had any issues at all. But post-Bucky Barnes Steve Rogers loved quietly watching the sunsets with his lover in his arms, wishing his phone to never ring again with a mission call, and only using it to send Tweets about his opinion on vaccination and to anonymously comment on vet forums with his experience on nightmares.

Steve Barnes-Rogers would signify that change nicely, he thought.

 

Steve himself had struggled to find anything to do with himself when he woke up in the 21st century, but Bucky picked up his Wakandan life where he had left off. Life returned to Bucky almost instantly upon landing, and he continued to improve at a steady rate.

They usually woke up around dawn. They made coffee and huge quantities of breakfast, then went out to work with the Mining Tribe. The goats needed to be checked over, occasionally trimmed and their hooves filed, and fed and watered daily. The fence sometimes needed repairs, and the hay needed to be collected and then sorted for later feedings.

Bucky talked with the locals, mostly the children, in their native language. He smiled more and more, and had no qualms about linking his arm into Steve’s or brushing Steve’s hair out of his forehead in front of anybody — it was getting longer, reaching his ears, while Bucky’s fell well below his shoulders.

They usually had the afternoon to themselves, and used that to keep in shape since the serum only granted the possibility of strong muscles, not certainty. The Tribe could always use two pairs of extra hands, but there was only so much they could do, what with Steve’s lack of experience and no knowledge of the language.

Bucky took up cooking and baking again, creating more and more elaborate dishes and cakes, and even inviting their neighbors over for lunch. When Steve wasn’t helping him, he was drawing by his side, using colors he never would’ve needed for a landscape back home.

And at night Bucky would initiate sex again — tentatively at first, but more and more eagerly each time, until he was confident in bossing Steve around like nothing had happened and then fucking him until he saw stars.

Steve hoped that Bucky would get enough positive reinforcement here for his smile to stay put when they would inevitably return to the States.

 

Shuri asked them to her lab a couple of times, and she worked on Bucky’s arm to make it better than ever. When it went offline, Bucky’s hand tightened on Steve’s, but the aftermath was much better than in the Tower — courtesy of the local atmosphere, no doubt.

She also asked to see Steve’s shield, and even had them throw it back and forth a couple of times in a gym-like area — she said something about her brother ruining her lab one time too many before she ushered them into the separate room.

Catching and throwing came like a second nature to both Steve and Bucky, especially with the added supersoldier serums. The shield was a colorful, deadly blur, but it never missed or went astray. Still, she looked at them with a slight crease between her brows.

“This is the strongest metal on Earth and you’re using it as a Frisbee,” she said.

“Technically,” Steve said, slightly out of breath but laughing as he caught a high throw, “Frisbees weren’t invented when I started using this as a weapon.”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, and Steve just barely held back his next throw. “Your technique is literally older than Frisbees?”

“I might have invented it, for all I know,” Steve said cheekily.

“How else do you use it?” Shuri asked.

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow at Bucky, and took position: legs steadily on the ground, shield held in front of his head. Bucky took three huge steps, a little jump at the end, and hit the star dead center with his metal hand.

The bang echoed through the gym.

“Okay, geez,” Shuri grumbled. “I expected a bit more finesse.”

“Steve and finesse?” Bucky laughed.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Steve fired back, then reddened immediately when he realized what he’d just said.

Shuri just rolled her eyes.

“I could install a power-relaying system,” she said. “The kind my brother has in the suit. It would store kinetic energy and then utilize it at the next blow.”

This was a huge offer, he knew, and a huge honor as well — Steve looked at his shield consideringly.

“I quite like it the way I have it,” he said. “It’s an old-fashioned weapon for an old-fashioned guy. But thank you, I appreciate the offer.”

Shuri pouted. “It would be better.”

“Not for me,” Steve said.

“Let me at least give it a recent paint job; the one you have there chips when someone so much as _looks_ at it. I have designed a dye that colors the vibranium in its raw form, making the paint last a lifetime…”

Steve pulled his shoulders up, anticipating the reaction for his denial yet again. “I don’t mind repainting it over and over again,” he said. “It’s relaxing after missions.”

Shuri huffed petulantly, reminding Steve more of Tony than an actual teenager. Although the resemblance with Peter was also uncanny, come to think about it.

“You Americans,” she murmured under her nose. “You don’t appreciate when someone actually wants to help you improve, you are so set in your old ways. White Wolf here is the same, if you were wondering,” she gestured at Bucky with a sassy wave.

“Oh, Shuri, not that again—”

“Yes, yes that again!” she exclaimed. “You would never have back soreness with the other arm I designed!”

“What?” Steve said.

“This is the first prosthetic I got here,” Bucky said, also with a deep sigh as he lifted his left arm. “But of course it isn’t the only one Shuri made for me.”

“What’s the difference?” Steve asked curiously.

“This doesn’t look Wakandan,” Bucky said. He had creases around his eyes as his expression turned pained, and Steve regretted nagging him — but Bucky was more than capable of saying no. “Which is what I asked for. The other…”

“Is much, much better,” Shuri said, and led them over two doors down, to a storage-like area, and opened a drawer to show them a prosthetic arm. It must’ve been Bucky’s exact fit, but the overplates were black, and the underplates — as little as they were visible — were of a deep, dark golden.

“Wow,” Steve said.

“It’s fine motor control is much improved,” she said. “Weights less, too, and the vibration absorbing qualities are higher. I offered it to this doofus before he decided fighting alien fishmen or something was much better than life on the farm with the goats.”

Bucky ducked his head, and despite the chiding tone, Steve believed Shuri just missed Bucky and didn’t think “going back to the fray” was the best for him. He rubbed Bucky’s arm — the metal one.

“I just couldn’t accept it,” Bucky said in a low voice, exhausted. “My name is now not associated with Wakanda, which is how it should be.”

“Yes, because your “bad reputation” would tarnish my entire country,” Shuri said sarcastically. “You severely overestimate your power, you know.”

Steve understood where Bucky was coming from: Wakanda was still very reclusive, only their help centers known to the world, and Bucky’s name… it could do damage. People were bigoted enough to make a big deal out of the “we’ve come to help you” country out of nowhere also having helped an assassin who had killed Americans.

But if the Wakandans didn’t care about that, then maybe Bucky shouldn’t punish himself, either.

“Thank you for the offer,” Bucky said slowly. “But I just… can’t. Especially not now. Associating with me evokes rage—”

“You could, _especially_ now,” Shuri said, fuming. “If people start on hating us because we helped someone in need, then so be it. We took that risk on when T’Challa decided to step out of the shadows, and I think he was right.”

Bucky looked at the arm, torn, then shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

Steve laced their fingers together and kissed his left shoulder in sympathy.

“Okay, fine — but my offer still stands. Get out of here, you are too sweet for my workshop — this is why Nakia isn’t allowed here either…”

 

 

Every now and again Steve still checked to see how things were going over the pond, and he used his personal Twitter account to keep in touch and reblog a bunch of Bucky-supportive posts, too. He had to show that Bucky wasn't fighting this fight alone.

"You making angry rants again?" Bucky asked him at the end of a day full of sneezing from managing the hay, when Bucky was making cookies of some native Wakandan fruit and Steve was on his phone.

"When have I ever," Steve replied in a flat voice.

He kind of was, partly because he had spend some time on vet's forums, which he used as an alternative solution to going to the VA/seeing a therapist, and then came across some pretty nasty comments about Bucky on Twitter.

As he was doing rounds between the fridge and the counter, Bucky leaned down to place a kiss on top of his head. His peach fuzz scratched Steve’s skin, not that he minded. "You don't have to do it for me."

"Who says I'm doing it for you?" Steve said indignantly. "I'm not making decisions for you, but that goes both ways. I'm doing this because I _want_ to."

Bucky stared at him, then his shoulders sagged. "Okay, you're right. Sorry."

Steve exhaled too. "...sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

"You were right," Bucky shook his head. "I just hate thinking of you going through the same shit as me. Already they're calling you names."

Steve snorted. "I've been called slurs since I was five. Queer Irish Catholic, remember?"

What got Steve angry wasn't the people who said he was un-American for standing up for Bucky, but those that said he was just doing it because of some mandatory attempt at political correctness, anyway.

"Yeah. Fair point."

Bucky pulled the first batch of cookies out and set them on the counter to cool with his metal hand. Steve watched in fascination, as always.

"Since we're at it," Steve said, and Bucky looked at him with wariness — not unfounded wariness, given Steve's predisposed tendency for stupid ideas, but still. "You could come back to Twitter, too."

Bucky hadn't posted since his coming out video, nor was he lurking in the background like Steve.

"I'm not sure that's the right move right now."

"Pepper gave me an idea about how to change my public image," Steve said, and explained the details. "So if you want to, we could talk there. Like normal people. To show that we actually get on very well. It would be less shocking when we come out, then."

Bucky sat down heavily to a chair while the second batch was cooking. "I'm afraid that'll backfire on us, too. I can't imagine how, but I couldn't imagine most of the things that they're saying now, either."

Steve's heart fell, but he nodded. "Your choice. But I still think we should give it a shot."

"I'll think about it," Bucky said.

"Thank you. What type are these, anyway?" Steve prodded the cooling cookies.

"I can't pronounce the name, so they're calling it moonfruit for my sake. It's sweet, but don't take one yet! It's still hot."

"I _know_ that," Steve grumbled. "We're taking some to Shuri, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky pulled a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Sure, why not."

Why not? Steve was under the assumption that was _why_ Bucky was baking in the first place. His bafflement was written on his face, because Bucky sighed deeply.

"I'm thinking about telling Nat who outed me."

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, and he had to consciously prevent himself from gaping as he sat up straighter. "Why now? And why Nat?"

"She's used to dealing with people that hurt me," Bucky said. "And now, because... I didn't want to send the wrath of the Avengers after them. I'm just now realizing this, but I believed that I wasn't worth it— I know, I know," he said, when Steve wanted to interrupt him. "You disagree. And I think so do I. You came here with me with little to no notice, you take everything in stride for me... I thought I was treating myself well, but being with you made me realize how far I still have to go."

Steve couldn't speak through the lump in his throat, because he felt the exact same way. He was learning so much from Bucky about self-care and compassion to himself, he didn't even know where to begin.

"I fully support telling her," Steve finally said. "I think it's a great idea."

Bucky smiled at him fondly. "It was Rumlow, by the way — Brock Rumlow."

"What?! From the STRIKE team?"

Steve never had much contact with Rumlow, but he was efficient and worked well with the Avengers, or so Steve had thought.

"Yeah. We had a fling when I moved to the States," Bucky said, and Steve had to collect his jaw from the floor, because what. Honestly, _what_. "Before I realized he was a douche and he realized I didn't live up to his standards."

Steve's shocked indignation turned into furious outrage. "What the actual _fuck_ —"

"He's a bully and he treats relationships like competitions," Bucky explained. "I obviously had no idea he took those photos of me at that club."

Steve exhaled through his nose. Maybe Bucky had made a good call back then; Steve’s first instinct was to go and break a nose. A very specific nose belonging to one Brock Rumlow.

"But if he had the pictures all this time…” Steve wondered aloud. “Why didn't he release them sooner?"

Bucky rubbed his neck. "Okay, so first I just want to say you are right and I have no right to take away _your_ agency either. Which is why I'm telling you now, before I tell Nat or anybody else — and why I didn't tell you earlier was because his timing is kind of because of us, and I know that you'd take that out on yourself."

 _What. Even._ "How—"

"He thought I was beneath him with how I wasn't really happy with casual fucks and wanted something more meaningful," Bucky said. He leaned to the counter, arms crossed, in self-preservation more than anything else. "He saw no point and no pleasure in destroying me then. But he caught wind of me having someone — he doesn't know it's you, I think — and he also must hate knowing that I found love and happiness. Or knowing that I belong with someone else now, who knows."

Rumlow. The mental image of a somewhat pushy, but overall reliable special operations agent was quickly transforming into a brutal, toxic and bloodthirsty man.

"Was he also who warned you about me, and gaining my approval?" Steve asked in a cold voice.

"...yeah." Bucky rubbed his face. "I was an idiot for ever going near him."

" _That_ is really not your fault," Steve said sternly. "This, all of this, is on him for being a garbage person and not on you for trusting him."

A weak smile appeared on Bucky's lips. "I know that, intellectually, but emotionally... that's a different story."

"I'll keep saying it until you internalize it," Steve offered.

Bucky pulled the current tray out of the oven, and replaced it with a new batch. Then he walked over to Steve and sat down into his lap, to be fully embraced and held by him.

"You won't run away to avenge me, right?"

"Not unless you want me to," Steve said and pulled Bucky close. "But he's fired. Nobody like that is working with the Avengers."

"Okay," Bucky said. "Then I'll just let Nat and Tony know — they can take care of it."

Steve kissed Bucky in the hopes of conveying how much he loved him, and Bucky sank deeper into his embrace.

 

Steve's anger didn't subside, per se, but it did tamper into a harsh feeling of joyless satisfaction when Nat called them 12 hours later to announce that Rumlow has been fired, and was given a disgraceful non-recommendation letter from SHIELD.

"He won't even get a job as a security guard in a mall with these credentials," Natasha said. "And while Tony was at it, he found out that it was this asshole who outed Sharon, too."

Bucky and Steve glanced at each other.

"And yet he lives?" Bucky asked mockingly.

"Sharon thought that the best revenge is eye for an eye, and so making his worklife near impossible would be enough. I personally disagree," she said, lifting her chin, "but it wasn't my call to make."

Bucky was silent for a few minutes, then said, "No, I agree. Please don't torture him or anything."

"When have I ever—"

" _Accidentally_ breaking his bones or scaring him to death counts," Bucky said.

"Fine, _fine_ , you outnumber me. But just to make sure, Pepper advised we — meaning the Avengers — release a statement about how he's a jealous, sexist and homophobic bully, the likes of which we do not support. Sharon okayed it, but if you don't want to, we won't do it."

She looked at Bucky expectantly, and Bucky swore under his breath.

"Yeah, whatever you think is best. Thank you, Nat."

"Yes, thank you," Steve agreed.

"It was my pleasure," she purred, and hang up.

 

Steve was sitting cross-legged on the bed and he ran his hand on the covers.

"We have a bed with bedposts," he said casually. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him from the doorway.

"We do, yeah."

"Made of a material that even we can't break."

"Seems like it."

Steve blinked at Bucky meaningfully, then looked down again. But before he could continue his masterful intro into what he wanted to discuss, Bucky interrupted his thoughts.

“I wouldn’t say no if you were offering me to tie you down and fuck you into oblivion,” he said. Steve startled.

"How did you—"

"Why _else_ would you be excited about a bedpost," Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I was serious,” Steve said, and his coyness gave way to sobriety.

"Would you like that? For real?”

Would Steve like it?

He imagined himself being spread out, one limb to one bedpost, unable to move, completely at Bucky's mercy.

His heart began beating faster, but not from fear. Fear didn't even factor into it — Bucky would let him go if he asked, he knew that with absolute certainty. What his arousal stemmed from was the idea of losing control — Steve's stupid ideas wouldn't ruin anything. He wouldn't have to worry about pleasing _anybody_ , and by that, he would please _Bucky_.

He suspected there might be more to it, to the fact that Bucky was strong enough to hold him down, and that Bucky took control after years of having been devoid of it, but that wasn't in question now, only if Steve would like it.

"I would," he said, and shifted — his pants were already getting tight. "Would _you_?"

"...yeah," Bucky said, after a few minutes of staring into nothing as he also considered the possibility. "I would still make sure you got off. But only when I say so."

Orgasm denial wasn't something Steve had experimented with, but it might be fun. "Would you touch me, though? Not my dick, just... anywhere else. I don't want to be spread out and then be left alone."

Even though Bucky wouldn't, he knew. But before he could be ashamed, Bucky kissed him, gentle as a feather.

"Of course, baby."

Steve smiled, and Bucky continued his negotiation.

"I know you like when I manhandle you — what about pain?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "I like rough, yeah, and when you leave marks, but that's not the same as being cut by a knife, is it?"

"There are different forms of pain play," Bucky said. "Not involving blood or bondage, but I'm not sure about my limits either — I don't want to hurt you."

"Let's research that later," Steve said. "I'm good with being tied down for now."

"But you won't mind the burns, and the soreness, and the hickeys," Bucky said, and ran the tip of his finger along Steve's wrist. Steve shivered.

"Not at all," he said.

"And you'll remember to use Texas."

God, when Steve'll inevitable have to visit that state, he won't be able to behave properly.

"Yes, yes. When are we doing it?" And maybe he straightened a bit too eagerly, because Bucky grinned at him wryly.

"Not _now_ , we have work to do."

"Tonight?"

"...yes."

Steve kissed him fiercely.

 

That day Steve was absolutely unable to concentrate on _anything_. Lucky him, the goats and the farm required little of his actual brainpower, otherwise he would've gotten killed with how absent-minded he was all through the chores. And Bucky, based on his shit-eating grin, knew it — and maybe Steve liked the torture part of it too, who would’ve guessed.

Nightfall came suspiciously slowly that day, and by the time it did, Steve was almost trembling in anticipation. They said goodbye to the other farmers, and walked home at a normal pace — and when the door closed behind them, Bucky grabbed Steve by the waist and whispered in his ear.

"Are you ready?"

Steve spun around. "I've been ready since morning."

"Go clean up then," Bucky said.

The water washed away the dirt and the sweat, at least, and Steve had never been quicker either. He was drying up when Bucky jumped into the shower too, apparently not wanting to waste any time. Steve approved.

He sat on the bed, still only in the towel, and a few minutes later Bucky walked out in his boxers and a shirt.

"Aren't you wearing too many clothes?" Steve asked.

"Not for now," Bucky said. "Lay down."

By the time Steve was in the middle of the bed, Bucky was over him with what looked like silver cuffs.

"Does Shuri know what that's for?"

"I didn't get these from a _teenager_ ," Bucky said indignantly. "They are from Aneka."

"Oh good," Steve said.

Bucky cuffed his left hand to the upper left bedpost, then his right hand to the upper right one.

Steve yanked at them as a test, and found that he only had a few inches of room to move.

"Good?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

Bucky looked at him, then reached up, and uncoiled Steve's balled fists — Steve hadn't even noticed he did that.

"I got you," Bucky said. "You can get out anytime, just tell me."

"No, I want this," Steve said. "Just. New."

Bucky nodded, and straddled Steve without a warning. But instead of doing anything with his hips, he leaned forward and kissed Steve, slowly, deeply. His growing beard scratched Steve’s skin, leaving a delicious burn behind. His tongue explored Steve's mouth like Steve was something special, something to be treasured, and when he pulled back, Steve chased his mouth, only to be restrained by the cuffs.

"Better?" Bucky asked.

"Fuck me," Steve replied, and Bucky laughed.

"That's the plan, pal. Hold on."

He restrained Steve's legs, too, and then pulled the towel away, and Steve felt utterly vulnerable as he was, naked and spread out. But utterly safe, too, because Bucky was by his side.

And then Bucky was on him again, this time, between his legs, and he kissed Steve's half-hard dick. Steve twitched in surprise.

"You won't come unless I say so," Bucky warned between kisses that gradually made Steve harder. "Understood?"

"Yes."

He didn't know what he was getting into. Bucky mouthed and licked his dick until he was fully erect, then moved to suck a hickey on his hips, and Steve gasped.

Bucky's blue eyes flashed at him, then he moved up, trailing kisses as he went, and Steve unconsciously yanked at the cuffs again, trying to touch him. Bucky just grinned at him, and then bit down at Steve's nipple.

"Fuck!"

"Shh, don't wake the neighbors," Bucky warned, and began sucking at his other nipple.

This was torture. This was absolutely torture because Steve couldn't arch into his touch, he couldn't reach out, he couldn't—

And he didn't want to. He wanted to _get_ what Bucky had to give to him just like this, unable to react in any meaningful way.

He sank back to the mattress, and Bucky straightened up immediately.

"You okay? Stevie?"

"Yes, I just. Realized how much I love this."

The previously wicked smile turned sweet. "That's the goal," he said, and kissed Steve's collarbone, his shoulders, his neck, and by the time he reached Steve's face, Steve was hard as a rock, sweating profusely, and gasping for air like he still had asthma.

Bucky had his body pressed through his, still clothed, his pupils dilated, and he touched Steve everywhere, carefully, with worship. Steve’s skin was covered in purple bruises and red marks from his beard that he would adore for as long as they were there.

But Bucky didn't kiss Steve's mouth, instead he went back to his nipples again, then up his hands, to kiss his upper arms, his knuckles, and down, to his thighs, and Steve writhed in his restraints from wanting _more_.

"Please," he caved in. "Please."

Bucky looked at him in surprise. "Please what?"

"Fuck me," Steve huffed, because, really, _what else?_

"That sounded like an order," Bucky's eyes narrowed. "You aren't trying to _order_ me, right?"

"No-o," Steve said. Bucky ran the tip of his finger on his inner thigh.

"What are you doing then?"

"Begging," Steve admitted.

"For what?" Bucky pressed his thumb into a freshly made hickey — gently, but Steve still hissed from the new sensation.

"To fuck me," he panted. "Please fuck me, _please..._ "

He would've begged more for the smile that erupted on Bucky's face.

"Good boy," he said, and discarded his boxers, lubed himself up, and climbed over Steve.

Then he put his metal hand right over Steve’s collarbone, putting most of his weight on Steve’s chest, and Steve's breath hitched.

"Ready?" Bucky whispered.

"Yes," Steve whispered back.

Bucky lined himself up and pushed in, slowly, and Steve couldn't move — his _mind_ couldn't move either, from Bucky's hand over his heart, from his dick making its way inside Steve, and it was _everything_ —

"Breathe," Bucky reminded him gently, and Steve did, but thankfully Bucky didn't ease up. He pulled out, and then thrusted back in, and Steve keened a broken sound — he didn't want to make any noise, he was told not to make any noise —

And Bucky ran his flesh hand through his hair, and Steve leaned into the touch while Bucky thrust in again and again.

Pleasure was building in Steve's belly, and he didn't even try to angle his hips or move his limbs at that point, he was completely at Bucky's mercy — and Bucky found his prostate with every single thrust, brushing over it, and Steve wanted some friction, something, _anything—_

"Are you close?" Bucky asked, and some remote part of Steve's brain that was still somehow functional noted that his voice hitched once, too.

"Ye-eah, please..."

But instead of giving Steve a hand, or at least moving on, Bucky _pulled out._

Steve moaned in a broken sort of protest, and Bucky hushed him.

"Not yet," he said, and his hair was sticking to his forehead, too, as he climbed up to straddle Steve. He pushed a lubed finger inside himself, and Steve could only whine from the sight of Bucky, across him, his dick red and glistening, so close and far out of reach.

"You can come after I have," Bucky said. He poured lube over Steve's cock, and Steve hissed from the cold, but then Bucky was lowering himself down onto it, and the hisses turned into a long moan.

"Shh," Bucky said, his mouth nearly covering Steve's, his hair obscuring Steve's world.

But his whole world was Bucky anyway.

Steve keened, but then Bucky was moving, rolling his hips again, his left arm square on Steve's chest. He pushed his hair out of his face with his right hand, and the shirt rode up on his hips, and his cock was leaking pre-come.

Steve had never felt more hard, and more at someone else's mercy. This was worse than Bucky fucking him, and so, so, so much better too — Bucky's movements dictated his pleasure, his breaths, his _existence_. Bucky was free to use him as he pleased, and yet his goal was to please Steve, and that...

Steve had to clench his muscles to prevent himself from coming.

"I'm..." was all he was able to say. His throat closed down, too, and he begged Bucky with his eyes.

"Not yet," Bucky panted, but his movements were becoming more erratic, his hand heavier on Steve's chest, and Steve moaned—

Bucky painted his chest in white stripes as he came, still rocking back as he emptied himself, then he stopped. His chest was rising and falling quickly, and Steve was dying, still inside him.

Bucky lifted his metal hand, and Steve whined — but then Bucky spread his come over the red indentations on Steve's skin, marking him up.

"You're mine," he said as he leaned down. "I love you. Come for me."

He rolled his hips once more and he kissed Steve, and his mouth muffled Steve's groan as he, too, came.

Steve didn't remember much of the after, only the glow. Bucky released him and cleaned him and made him drink something, and then curled around Steve and whispered his praises into his ear, but Steve was floating somewhere white and golden, the kind of bliss he once believed to be called heaven, and all he could do to respond was to hold back onto Bucky as the sweetest of dreams embraced him.

 

He admired Bucky’s marks while he had them, all the hickeys and the bitemarks and the burns. He complimented Bucky’s beard somewhat wistfully: it really suited him, but he couldn’t deny that part of his appreciation came from how it felt on his skin.

“You could grow yours out, too,” Bucky said back lazily. “I wouldn’t say no to trying something new.”

Steve never had a beard, but there was no reason he couldn’t try it now. He was working on changing his image, anyway, and he _felt_ like changing his looks to fit this new him.

The next morning, he skipped shaving entirely, and Bucky kissed the place behind his ear with a smug smile.

The marks disappeared quickly, to Steve’s dismay, but the lingering feeling of deep, endless trust remained. He still put his hand over his own chest, where Bucky had, just to make himself feel a fraction of that unbelievable night — and he sometimes fell asleep by pulling Bucky close and placing his metal hand there. (Bucky’s face was _everything_ the first time he did so.)

Bucky’s sleeping improved considerably. He no longer woke up multiple times, although they both had nightmares periodically — one such occasion was when he woke up in the middle of the night from a panic attack after dreaming that Steve left him.

Steve almost asked him to marry him right then and there, if only to make Bucky know that he wasn’t going anywhere. But Bucky would’ve taken that as Steve wanting to prove something on a dare, which was the only reason he didn’t.

That, and the lack of a ring. Maybe he’d talk to Shuri about that.

 

Steve periodically caught Bucky staring at his left arm as he was working on the farm, and also checking Twitter out without actually posting or doing anything there. Steve hoped it meant that he was considering her offer, and his idea too, which… didn’t seem all that important, anymore. Who gave a fuck about what the world thought of them? Shuri was right: if people hated them for being happy, that was not Steve or Bucky’s fault. They had nothing to apologize for.

Bucky just ignored the bashing articles and the angry posts, and went back to baking or playing with Amanda or reading without being affected at all, and Steve felt like an unseen burden was lifted from his shoulders, too.

 

And then Bucky tied Steve down again, and Steve was pretty sure he died and went to heaven.

 

“I’m thinking about Shuri’s offer,” Bucky murmured one night as he was curled around Steve. “Accepting her arm. The arm she made for me. My arm.”

The moonlight shone bright enough for Steve to see the metal in the dim room. He kissed Bucky’s knuckles reflexively.

“Good.”

“T’Challa also came over yesterday, when she was tweaking with this one, and he reiterated that her offer still stands. It… kinda makes it harder to know that the king stands by me, but also easier. I don’t know.”

“What are you worried about?”

“How it can hinder the State’s opinion on Wakanda,” Bucky said. “And… you seem to love this one well enough.”

“I think Wakanda can take care of itself, if the king says so,” Steve said. “As for me, I think the black and gold would suit you better, and I’d love it just as much as I love this one.”

Bucky stared at him with wide, ocean eyes. “Why?”

“You make me feel golden when you touch me,” Steve said simply. What he didn’t say that the gold and black together was a warm, benevolent combination compared to the harsh unforgiving nature of silver, in case he influenced Bucky too much.

“The new one may not leave marks on you,” Bucky whispered, and his hand wandered over to what Steve internally referred to as home position.

“You can find another way to mark me up,” Steve said.

 

 

“What do you wanna do for Christmas?” Bucky turned to him on one sunny morning.

“What?”

“Christmas. Next weekend?” Bucky repeated, his feet gently nudging Steve’s under the table.

Oh. Steve hadn’t realized.

“I… do Wakandans even celebrate?”

“Nope,” Bucky said. “But we aren’t Wakandans, are we. I could set up a small tree if you’d like.”

Steve took a sip from his coffee as he considered this.

“I should like Christmas,” he finally said. “But I…”

“Lost the spirit a long time ago?” Bucky finished for him quietly.

“Something like that,” Steve smiled at him thankfully. “After my Ma died, I just couldn’t…” The best Christmas he’d had after her death was with the Howlies and Peggy, in the middle of the European Theater, and wasn’t that just sad. “I usually ask Fury to send me on a mission. Once I was in New Zealand, that was nice.”

Except for how that was right after Peggy’s death, the first Christmas he had to spent without her since ‘41, and how he wanted to bury himself and never come up for air again.

Somehow Bucky saw some of this on his face because he reached out and held his hand. “You’re not obligated to like Christmas, Steve.”

“I thought I’d ask Tony to lend us one of his cottages,” Steve said. “In the mountains. Cozy. Thought it’d be good for a getaway weekend, watch the snow fall outside.”

A beaming smile broke out on Bucky’s face. “That was sweet of you.”

“Yeah. I just forgot about all of it with the shitstorm.”

“We have a cottage now, even some mountains,” Bucky gestured around their house. “And neither of us likes the cold, so.”

“How about you and Christmas?”

“We celebrated it, with my mother and my sister,” Bucky ran his free hand through his hair. “Not the religious aspect of it much, though. And then… well, you know. Red Room wasn’t called red because of their festive spirit. It didn’t even occur to me when I was recovering here, and I could never get the hang of the overpriced, overcommercialized version in the States, so I don’t particularly have a preference.”

Steve lifted his hand and kissed it, making Bucky blush.

“I still got you a present,” Bucky admitted. “Nothing big, though. We could just… lay outside in the sun all day and then have sex all night.”

“You mean like we don’t do that all the time anyway,” Steve laughed. “But I, um, got something for you too. We can exchange presents before I unwrap your clothes.”

“Rogers, I’m shocked,” Bucky said mock-outraged, then his face turned serious. “But what that means is that you don’t mind if we… stay a little longer? Here?”

“I meant what I said, we can stay as long as you like,” Steve replied.

“I didn’t think farm life would suit you,” Bucky said.

“Me neither,” Steve admitted. A tiny part of him had been worried that he’d go mad if he didn’t have the world to save intermittently, but apparently not when Bucky was involved. “But I’ve never been on vacation, and learning what it’s like with you is great. Plus we have enough to do here — the farm, Shuri’s tests, using a bed that has a functional frame…”

“Punk,” Bucky muttered, and went silent.

“Do you want to go back to New York?” Steve asked.

“Eventually,” Bucky said. “That’s your home, and you made it feel like _my_ home, too. But yeah, I’ve never felt better than here and now. I just need a little more time.”

Steve knew that he looked lovesick, but he couldn’t _not_ when Bucky said such things to him.

“Then we stay,” he said. “I have nowhere better to be.”

  


Bucky wasn't the only one preoccupied with the upcoming Holiday Season. A few days later they got facetimed by Tony who desperately wanted to tempt them back to New York — after he made fun of their growing facial hair, that is.

"...and besides the presents, the weather forecast is promising snow! And if that fails, I'm working on something that will recreate the crystals, but warm and less slushy. You can cosplay as Santa, your beards are almost long enough for that."

"Thanks, Tony, but we'd like to stay for a while," Bucky said apologetically, ignoring the inaccurate jab.

"But let us know if you invent a sunshine-machine," Steve added.

"You are such spoilsports," Tony sighed threatically. "Okay, how about New Year's Eve? Even if it's for a night, you _have_ to come home. I can send a private jet and everything. The whole team will be back, Thor's bringing his special ale, which I know you've been after, and it's going to be a huge party! You can even get your belated Christmas presents then."

Bucky met Steve's eye with a small smile. Parties with Tony were huge indeed, no doubt about that — crowded and fabulous, with confetti everywhere, especially at New Year's. The ladies would be wearing killer heels, everybody would get drunk, even probably Steve and Bucky, if Thor's mead was to be relied upon.

And to be honest, the idea of getting shit-faced with Bucky did appeal to Steve. He wanted to know what Bucky's kiss would feel like when he was already in a light buzz from the booze; he wanted to lose his inhibitions in the company of someone he absolutely unquestionably trusted. He wanted to have sex with Bucky while under the influence, just to try it, just because he _could_.

But — and this was something he had never felt before — he wanted to experience the day after just as much. Pulling Bucky's hair back over the toilet, or asking Bucky to shield him from loud noises and bright lights. Because Bucky was with him through the ups and downs, he knew, and he also knew that in the far future, after having spent years together, he would treasure the first day of the new year, with all the hangovers and the glitter stuck to their skin, just as much as the last day of the old year, with the feelings of being invincible and euphoric.

Bucky's smile widened, and when Steve nodded, he turned back to the screen.

"We'll think about it," he said.

 

When Bucky finally agreed to get the new arm from Shuri, the Princess of Wakanda punched the air in triumph, and scared Amanda the cat into hiding under the bathroom sink for the rest of the day.

Steve held his right hand while she detached the arm, and tried his best not to freak out completely — but that was Bucky’s arm, that he could feel with, on the _table_. And Bucky was breathing hard, too, and he leaned his forehead to Steve’s shoulder, making Shuri mutter about too many lovebirds in her sacred science lab.

When the new arm clicked home, Bucky hissed once, and then he turned to check it. He held it in front of him, and his eyes were shining as bright as the white lights around him that made the black look like obsidian and the gold sparkle.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Shuri smiled at him gently.

“I know you will use it well.”

Steve just kissed Bucky’s jaw, then took his left hand into his.

Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he inhaled through his nose audibly.

“Pain? Discomfort?”

“Only pleasure,” Bucky said, and reached up to cup Steve’s chin, to ran the metal fingers through his hair.

Steve turned his head enough to place a kiss to his palm, and Bucky shivered.

“Okay, let me stop you right there until I check the sensors,” Shuri said, and Bucky let out a wet laugh.

 

By the time they left the lab, the Sun was going down, and Bucky was leaning heavily on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sunsets are beautiful here,” he whispered. “But never as much as when I’m with you.”

“Good,” Steve said softly. “I always wanna be with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, pal,” Bucky said. “Hey. You still think I should come back to Twitter? Ease the world into “us as an item”?”

Steve let his head roll against Bucky’s. “I wouldn’t even care if we just posted a video about us kissing, to be honest.”

Bucky snorted. “I ain’t ready for that yet. But something small…”

“You sure you want to do that now? When you’re emotionally exhausted?”

Bucky glanced at him. “You still on vet forums, I see.”

“…maybe you’re a good influence on me.”

Endlessly deep blue eyes, as vibrant as the sea after a storm, stared into his.

“Maybe you’re a good influence on me too,” Bucky said, and lifted his phone. “I’ve never felt more fragile and more invincible at the same time.”

“Maybe that’s what love is like,” Steve murmured.

“Then I guess I love you,” Bucky said, and kissed Steve, and began typing on Twitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~i have no idea how we've gotten to another engagement/pre-wedding fic~~
> 
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> So, um, anybody remember the BDSM fic  _Carry On_ from the SPN fandom? 
> 
> (Wow can you tell that I wasn't feeling Christmas last year?)
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> [Here ](https://beesandbroomsticks.tumblr.com/post/183468009353/i-was-honored-to-create-art-for)is the rebloggable art from the lovely, amazing and incredibly talented [beesandbroomsticks!](https://beesandbroomsticks.tumblr.com) Go and show her your love! 
> 
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**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> So, this is the end of the road - the road that started six months ago, wow! Thank you for my cheerleaders, [Bees](https://beesandbroomsticks.tumblr.com/), [Star](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereyeswerestars/), [Lily ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyPotteri)and [Mena ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera)once again, because I couldn't have done this without you; for the Mods of the Stucky Au Bang for organizing this event, and for you, dear readers, for your comments and kudos! 
> 
> This is the first novel-length story that I ever finished, edited and uploaded, and even thought some parts didn't turn out how I intended them, I still am very proud that I  _wrote_ the whole thing. I was inspired by Taylor Swift so much and it was wonderful to play with this AU idea and eventually create this story :D 
> 
> I hope you liked my fic as well ( ~~PLEASE TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS~~ ), and as always: I'm on [tumblr ](http://cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/)and reblog a lot about our star-crossed disaster boys (and TS) if you're interested :)


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